Middle Earth Apocolypse: The Resurrection of Smaug
by draconic chronicler
Summary: This story begins the morning after Gandalf, Bilbo and Frodo board the Swan Ship bound for the undying lands of the elves, where they meet a formidable character from the past who had cleverly feigned his death to exact a terrible revenge on those who had plotted against him. Currently this is a four chapter story with epilogue that may continue longer if there is reader interest.
1. Introduction

Many readers are unaware that Tolkien set the events of Middle Earth in our own world approximately 6000 years ago. The name Middle Earth was not his invention but the translation of the word Midgard in Old Norse and was essentially the known world of these Nordic peoples in what is now Northwest Europe. What Tolkien never explains though is how these great cities and advanced civilizations of Elves, dwarves and humans could have seeming vanished without a trace. He may have left a clue however, when Smaug the Magnificent, fell into the deep water by Lake-town where it could only be assumed he perished. Tolkien stated that he intended to rewrite a 'more adult' version of The Hobbit to better complement the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and perhaps he had bigger plans for Smaug in that world than in the 'happy ending, children's fairy story' which was The Hobbit. If Smaug had survived, this may explain why the various races like Elves and Dwarves along with their monumental buildings vanished without a trace. It might also explain why early human cultures around the world worshipped dragons as their gods, during the centuries after the cultures of Middle Earth vanished, including one of great fame who fits Smaug's description perfectly! This story begins near the ending of The Return of the King, on the morning after Bilbo, Frodo and Gandalf set sail on a Swan Ship to the Valinor, the Undying Land of the Elves. Could Valinor be the Atlantis of the Greeks? They were both considered advanced civilizations located west of Europe in what we now call the Atlantic Ocean. Atlantis was said to be destroyed by a great calamity. Could it have been destroyed by that 'Greatest of Calamities', Smaug the Magnificent?


	2. Chapter 1: The Whale-Fish That Wasn't

Chapter One

A brisk morning breeze filled the sails and propelled the elegant, swan-prowed vessel over the choppy green sea. Since the previous evening, it ploughed the waves ever westwards towards Valinor, the Undying Land of the elves, that was to be their destination. The majority of the elves of Middle Earth had already departed for the ancestral homeland, but this one also carried the renowned wizard, Gandalf the White, his faithful stallion Shadowfax, and as bearers of the One Ring, two famous hobbits had also been accorded the rare honor of accompanying them on one of the last ships to depart.

Rising before any of the other passengers, Frodo perched on the stern railing, and watched the craggy peaks of the Gray Banks, and the tallest spires of the elven port city of Mithlon finally disappear over the horizon as the golden morning Sun rose and briefly illuminated them. With quill in hand, the young hobbit jotted down his first impressions of the beginnings of his next grand adventure. He mused that if possible, he would someday return to The Shire, to have a reunion with his friends, Pippin. Merry and Sam, and in the last unfilled pages of the great, leather-bound red book that he had left in their care, add yet another addition to the tales begun by his uncle Bilbo, and which he amended when he chronicled the events of the great _War of the Ring_, in which he played so prominent a role.

As he carefully put ink to parchment, out of the corner of his eye, Frodo glimpsed what might have been the head of a large fish or even a whale breech the surface and sink quickly back into the depths. He looked to the few crew on deck for some acknowledgment of seeing it too, but they seemed not to notice or care and he was wont to bother them with something probably so trifling to seasoned elvish sailors. But for him, he had never seen a great whale-fish, and if that was what he saw, he hoped it would come closer so he could have a good view, and make a sketch of it for the journal as well.

Another hour went by and now there was only water to be seen on every horizon. What Frodo had first took to be the head of a whale-fish was occasionally glimpsed, but only for a few seconds before sinking again into the sea. It seemed to keep pace with the ship, but always the same distance away and too far away to get a good look at it. By now, there was more activity on deck as passengers emerged from their below deck berths to take in the crisp morning air. The great wizard, Gandalf the White, was now on deck speaking to the elvish nobles and ship's officers gathered at the prow. Frodo was loath to distract him as he seemed engaged in some important conversation, but when the wizard made eye contact with the young hobbit, he politely excused himself and strode back to greet him.

Frodo happily beamed, "Good morning Gandalf, I believe there is a whale-fish following us! I thought I saw its head surface ..."

Frodo stopped mid-sentence as an ominous cracking sound erupted deep below deck, and in the same instant a massive jolt lifted the ship and knocked everyone to their knees or buttocks. An elvish sailor working high in the rigging was thrown from the impact into the sea. Then there was an ear-piercing screech as something hard forced its way through the hull, and with a splintering crunch, a great spike, as thick around as a dwarven ale barrel, erupted from the top deck almost below Gandalf, splintering planks and hurling him into the air and over the side. Releasing his staff, he grabbed the railing with both hands, and hung against the hull, the cold sea biting at his ankles.

Towering taller than a cave troll, it could be seen that the ugly spike was once the tip of a huge tree, shorn of branches, and roughly hewn, perhaps even gnawed by the looks of it, to a sharp point and it was black, as if charred and hardened by fire. With no enemy in sight, it seemed that the ship somehow struck the submerged object, so instead of grabbing weapons, the first concern was to save those that may be trapped below. Frodo leaped to the ship's side to help Gandalf back aboard, but the wizard looked him in the eye and said "I am fine. Seek out your uncle Bilbo, for I left him still asleep in his cabin.". Frodo left him and hastened to an open hatch, as did others in the pandemonium. There was a lifeboat on deck, which the great spike of wood would have also impaled if it had been only a few paces further astern. Several sailors were at work untying and turning it over, when the black spike suddenly took on a life of its own. Screeching again as heavy wood grated together, it move a little one way and then the next as it slowly withdrew below the shattered deck. If the disaster were not frightening enough, it was now apparent this was no accident and some great power was in control of the unlikely weapon.

At the same moment, Frodo grabbed his uncle Bilbo by his night shirt, shouting "Uncle, you must get out of here, the ship is sinking". The elderly hobbit was already awakened by the spike crashing through the hull, and was rifling through his traveling trunk to save some important items. The spike had pierced the hull quite near the berth, and unnaturally began to twist back and forth and recede back into the sea as though controlled by some huge being with the strength to wield it. Grating wood squealed, and fountains of water were erupting from cracks in the ruined hull. Frodo instantly saw the danger of what would happen when the great log were pulled all the way out, not even imagining yet what could be making it move. Shouting above the din of screams and rushing water, the young hobbit exclaimed, "No time now, Uncle", and grabbed Bilbo's arm, put it about his neck, and brought him on deck, an instant before the great spike pulled completely out, and the water came flooding in.

Gandalf had now climbed back on deck and was sprinting towards the forward cargo hatch, where his beloved stallion, Shadowfax, had been secured in the hold. The White Wizard had promised his sapient equine companion that they would never be parted again, and so was allowed to take his friend and mount to the Undying Lands. While the great horse had to be winched down into the hold by crane, there was no way to take him out. In this case, it was fortunate that the hull filled so fast with water, for being a powerful swimmer, the stallion rose with the rising water until it swept over the deck, and with flailing hooves scrambled upon it, only seconds after Gandalf lifted the heavy hatch. "Leap fast and far old friend, lest you be sucked down with the ship, and then swim to the lifeboat." Being a Mearas horse, in fact the very chief of this unique race, Shadowfax understood human speech and complied. Gandalf knew others were still trapped below deck, but nothing could be done now, and he sprinted for the small boat as the cold water swept over his feet.

It was unlikely a ship could ever be sunk so quickly and nary without a trace as this one had, which seemed to be exactly the intention of the yet unknown force responsible. With such a massive hole left with the exiting of the spike, in a few scant minutes the sea swept over the top deck, just as the lifeboat was righted and filled with passengers. Few yet were even very wet, save for Gandalf, and the elvish sailor knocked into the sea and now missing. Others were still trapped below deck when disaster struck, though none but Bilbo had been rescued before the ship so rapidly sunk.

Eleven souls were safely aboard the small boat, all elves, save for Gandalf and the two hobbits. None had time to grab weapons, save for the small belt knives that the sailors carried, and Gandalf himself, was without his white staff, flung from his hand when he was nearly thrown overboard and now nowhere to be seen. Gandalf coaxed the frightened stallion to the boat, and with powerful arms that belied his elderly appearance, held Shadowfax mane up by his front hooves and encouraged him to keep air in his lungs so not to sink. No enemy was yet in view, and spirited discussions raged in the crowded little craft as to what caused the spike to pierce their ship. Then a sailor first saw it off the stern, shouting and pointing in alarm.

Beneath a flurry of bubbles, a menacingly-large shape of a living creature rose amongst the roiling foam. Suddenly the grim visage of what could only be an immense red-gold fire drake erupted from the swirling green water, both terrible and beautiful at the same time. Gouts of steam puffed from pulsing nostrils in the cold morning air, and even more wafted from half-open jaws that bore an array of wickedly-sharp teeth the color of old ivory and some as long as Sting, Bilbo's elvish short sword. While some in the small craft screamed at the rising apparition, a similar wail startlingly erupted from the depths of the dark throat behind the gleaming teeth, ending abruptly as the huge head seemed to nod, and with an ominous gulping sound, a wiggling bulge the size of a man, (or elvish sailor to be exact), rolled smoothly down the inside of the long, serpentine neck for all to see. Then the leering head cocked to one side and a piercing eye, the color of molten gold, bore down on the trapped, near helpless survivors. The beast then spoke, a deep inhuman voice all too familiar, (and terrifying, too), to Bilbo Baggins, even after so many years.

"My, my, my...what an extraordinary catch of fish I have made on the deep green sea this fine morning. In one stroke I seem to have bagged most, if not all of the still living conspirators who had so callously plotted my assassination, though I have never done them any harm. I see we have the noble Lady Galadriel, as beautiful as ever, and the Lordly Elrond, Master of Rivendell, hmm? I knew if I fished these waters long enough I would catch the responsible elves at least, among the many of shiploads of your race that have come this same way on their great migration these past years, and have thus filled my belly." (And he paused to smack his scaly lips and rolled his long pink tongue over the sharp spikes of his teeth). But what luck, I seem to have also netted the conniving wizard, Gandalf the Grey, no, _the White_, is it now?" Then the great head turned to Shadowfax, "And what's this, a nice plump horse? Could you have been expecting me all along, and this is a peace offering, in hopes of making up for your base treachery nearly a century ago?"

Under other circumstances, even the most powerful dragon of the age would have had a healthy respect for the three most powerful, still-living mages in all of Middle Earth, and bearers of Rings of Power besides, as Smaug could plainly see shining on their fingers but deigned to show too much interest in them. But dragons can sense magic, and this one knew that the power of the rings they bore was much diminished, while his abilities were never stronger. The three ring-bearers could sense it as well, for the dragon was virtually bursting with spiritual energy, seemingly impossible power for a single living being, no matter how large. Though they knew they were virtually powerless before the beast, Gandalf gambled that he might bluff the fire drake into retreating. Standing up in the prow, and raising an open hand towards the beast, (for his staff was nowhere to be seen), Gandalf shouted as authoritively as any wizard could hope to do, "Begone now, Dragon if you value your life! I warn thee that there is more power among this group than you can possibly imagine for we are the bearers of _Narya_, _Nenya_, and _Vilya_, the Three Rings of Power given to the elves! Now return to the depths from whence you came!"

The beast's scaly lips turned upwards into what might have been a gloating grin, and a great paw with wicked black talons, as sharp and as large as scythes emerged from the water to scratch the scaly chin, as if mocking a human pondering a difficult question. "Hmm, more power than I can possibly imagine, really now? If that were true, old wizard, then I am no more than a blue-bellied fence lizard", the dragon contemptuously retorted. "I know well the rings which you and the two highborn elves bear, but can also sense that with the destruction of the _One Ring_, these have lost their powers and are now mere baubles, just as the Rings of Power which I have acquired. How does it go, _one ring to rule them all_, is it not?". With a talon, Smaug then touched a thin, but strongly wrought chain of mithril metal that coiled around the base of his neck where there were strung three rings, appearing far tinier than they really were against the massive reptile. "Why lo and behold, for it seems we are evenly matched in useless Rings of Power, for I possess two of The Seven, taken from Dwarves long ago and believed destroyed, and a very recent acquisition – one of The Nine once given to men. It was taken from a Wraith which I had slain at Mount Doom so a certain young hobbit, yes, the very one sitting in your boat, by the smell of him, could destroy the One Ring, and with it Sauron as well, hmmm?" The dragon paused in delight to register the expressions of astonishment on the faces of the small boat's occupants, and then continued. "Oh yes, I was indeed at Mount Doom that day, peering down from the volcano's rim. I saw the One Ring consumed in the fires with my own eyes, and watched the Eye of Sauron fall, before I slipped away undetected in the smoke and fire of the exploding mountain. Who else do you think destroyed the strongly placed guard there, so the young hobbit could complete his task? Or do you really think the brilliant and cunning Sauron would not leave just one of the Nazgul, and a strong detachment of orcs besides, to guard the single place in the wide, wide world where the One Ring could be destroyed? Of course he would and did! This is why your whole plan was mad to begin with, Old Wizard. Imagine, sending a pair of mere hobbits against the largest army ever fielded. A fool's errand to be sure if it were not for Smaug the Magnificent to save the day. Fools! Sauron outnumbered your forces already, ten to one, so why would the only possible method to destroy him be left unguarded? What I didn't eat of the guardians, I threw into the fire, and then retreated to my perch above, as the hobbits slowing ambled up the mountainside. And that was not the first time I saved your Fellowship either. Oh no, I was along much of the way, always in the shadows, destroying other perils you were not even aware of, to insure the One Ring would be destroyed, but all the while never revealing that I still lived – so I might continue waylaying elvish ships much like you witnessed today."

With really nothing to lose, and angered by the beast's self-aggrandizing, Gandalf scoffed, "Since when have dragons, and most of all, Smaug the Scourge, done anything to help the civilized races of elf, dwarf and man? If we indeed discussed the possiblity to make an end of you, as you seem to think, then it was with good cause, for you are nothing but a greedy and cruel monster, and all believed you would have sided with Sauron in the war we knew was coming."

Feigning indignation, Smaug brought a paw to his chest, and mockingly replied, "A scourge am I? I am hurt, truly hurt by such unkind words, and your belief I would willingly support Sauron in the late war. Perhaps I would have been forced to do so, if he regained possession of the One Ring, I cannot say for sure. But this old dragon laid his plans long, long ago, and thought of everything. I tricked you all, White Council and Sauron alike, both sides believing I was dead, dead, dead and gone. But this was not the case at all, at all, as you can plainly see. Quite the contrary, after concocting my mock demise, I just sat back to watch both sides in the conflict kill each other by the hundreds of thousands, saving me the time and trouble to do so later. All I needed was an inept band of dwarves and your gullible hobbit burglar to set my plan in motion, foolish old wizard! I have won, won, won, largely thanks to the stupidity of the very scoundrels now sitting helplessly in this little boat, who once so arrogantly plotted the death of a dragon who had done none of them harm – the very dragon that in the end was your most valuable ally though you never knew it. It was I that used you to rid the world of Sauron and the One Ring, the one power on all the earth that might have vexed me. And you three Ringbearers, the last three in all the world with a chance of opposing me, are now trapped, trapped, trapped like rats, in the middle of the cold, deep sea, in a tiny craft I could capsize with a sneeze. And think well on this, if I wanted to kill you all, I would have already incinerated you with dragon-fire the instant I arose from the sea. No, I am not here to mindlessly slaughter, but to only seek honest justice against those who have wronged me. Now stand down and behave as I come closer, for I mean to get a better look at you."

The talking apparition moved closer, as if the carved, dragon-prowed head of an impossibly large sea raider's ship were about to ram them, yet stopped just short of collision. If the small craft had been filled with mere men, and not elvish lords and a great wizard, they would have likely leaped from the vessel in terror, only to drown in the cold water. But all here were made of sterner stuff, even the two hobbits who had survived many dangerous situations in their previous adventures, and one of them, of course, Bilbo Baggins to be exact, had even faced the very same dragon all alone, many years past. While their present predicament was indeed dire, it was not altogether hopeless, for Smaug the Magnificent – (and there was no denying it was indeed him, despite the popular belief he had died some eighty years previously), seemed to be in a relatively cheerful and amiable mood, given his apparent triumph. It was clear to all that the beast could have destroyed them with a mighty blast of dragon fire, if he had wanted to, but instead wished to converse with them - or at least crow on to them on how clever he was. The only chance of surviving this ordeal would be to indulge the vain monster until a plan could be developed. And besides, all were indeed curious to learn how this dragon had somehow cheated death at Lake Town, how the War of the Ring would have been lost without his help, as he claimed, and most of all, if it were really true he had sunk and devoured the literally thousands of elves that had already departed Middle Earth for their Undying Lands over the many years when all believed he was dead and gone.

Now right above them, the dripping snout dangerously descended, and sucking nostrils inhaled deeply right in front of the terrified Bilbo, pulling his tousled grey hair towards the twin dark orifices. Then the toothy maw opened, and a gust of hot, rank-smelling, steamy breath blasted them all, as the great fire drake deliberately exhaled on them. The deep voice resonated, "Ah, I never forget a scent, for the old hobbit now pissing his trousers must be none other than my old acquaintance, the Ring Bearer, Bear-friend, Barrel-rider, and Burglar, Mister Bilbo Baggins Esquire of Bag End, yesss?"

The terrified hobbit did not answer, but sat with his eyes tightly closed hoping that it was a nightmare that might go away. Gandalf gave Bilbo a hidden nudge, and whispered, "Speak to him Bilbo, or he may simply kill us all."

Smaug overheard this, and imperiously addressed Gandalf, "Silence, old white-beard, you speak only when spoken to in the presence of a dragon, or I can stifle your talk, and even hold you in place as I please. Oh, and you needn't bother summoning your eagle friends, for I sense you are pondering this, though they cannot save you this time. You surely must know that I took care to sink the swan ship too far out at sea for them to reach and ever return alive. It is not that I fear those birds, not at all, but I usually eat what I kill and I am not in the mood for roast fowl today, then he paused, and added ominously, "nor may my belly have room enough for them - as I may indulge in other prey this day, hmm?. And haven't those poor eagles sacrificed enough of their lives already, in fighting the battles of you treacherous and conniving talking apes?"

Both of the Elf-lords and Gandalf attempted to protest the insult, but to their astonishment they could not move or speak, but were pinned in place by some invisible power. Gandalf experienced this before when Saruman overpowered him with magic in his tower, only he sensed this power was even stronger. "Yesss, you can feel it, can't you?" Smaug hissed in triumphant delight. "I am strong, strong, strong! Never have I been as powerful as I am today, and do you want to know why? No, I shall let you ponder on that awhile for I now wish to speak to my old acquaintance, the burglar Mister Bilbo Baggins who played his part so perfectly in my little charade". The scaly snout then pointed towards Bilbo and he hissed, "Well, thief, what have you to say for yourself?"

The older hobbit mustered his courage, opened his eyes and shakily spoke. "Y-y-yes indeed Sir, Your Preeminence, Oh Mighty Smaug, your memory and sense of smell are remarkable as one would expect from so grand a dragon as yourself." He then stood up in the rocking boat, made a deep bow and announced, "Bilbo Baggins at your service milord, and genuinely happy to see that reports of your untimely death seem to have been, er, greatly exaggerated...unless of course, y-you are a ghost now, for it has been reliably reported, I understand, that y-your very b-bones and scales too, can still be seen, deep down in the water amongst the charred timbers where Lake Town once stood."

To this, Smaug snorted a gush of hot steam from his nostrils and had a great laugh, mercifully reeling back somewhat, where his odious breath would not be so noxious, but always keeping a watchful, glittering eye on the little boat's every occupant. To Gandalf's great dismay, one of the dragon's forelimbs now emerged from the water, sharp talons gripping his own lost staff and potent weapon of magic. Like a man with a toothpick, the beast casually took the artifact's bottom end into his jaws, fishing around his back teeth with it until he extricated a sodden, drool-drenched, mass of cloth – obviously the cloak of the ill-fated sailor-come- dragon- fodder they had all watched him swallow in horror. Eying a shining mithril brooch still pinned to it, he deftly plucked it off with two claws that seemed far too large and awkward for the task, opened his jaws wide, and tossed the beautiful elvish trinket it into his deep, dark throat, not bothering to even swallow so small an object. He then irreverently dropped the slime-tainted heap of wet wool into the lap of the immaculately dressed, white-clad Galadriel. Looking back to Bilbo he said, "Ah, at least one of you know how to respectfully address a dragon, though I suspect it is not altogether sincere, hmm? But no, little thief, I am no ghost, but very, very much alive. For one thing, spirits do not eat, and you've just seen me do that, and may yet again this day. This dragon has eaten very well indeed since my little act of deception at Lake Town, in which you, Ring Bearer, Bear Friend, and Burglar, Bilbo Baggins, were so instrumental. While usually not the sentimental sort, I am very, very touched indeed that you seem so happy to see that I am alive and well."

Bilbo's eyes went from the glittering eye to the dragon's broad chest, and strained to see the gaping chink in his natural armor, which allowed Bard's black arrow to pierce the equally black heart of the beast. It was so obvious in the dim light in the depths of Erebor, but now no trace of it could be seen. Smaug knew he was looking for the place, and split a wide grin, that revealed the array of wickedly sharp ivory teeth yet again. "Yesss – oh Barrel-rider, even the weak spot in my armor was a humbug - merely a spot of torn leather and a few shed scales plastered down with a bit of dried blood, yet convincing enough to you because you wanted to believe there was a way to save yourself, just as I knew you would - not to mention putting you a bit under_dragon-spell_, to make it seem all the more convincing, though you never realized it. Know that I could have killed you at any time if I had wished, even when _The One Ring _made you invisible, you little fool, for I could still smell your scent and see your every footprint in the loose coins. I only let you think I couldn't take you because I needed you alive, of course, to report the old wound in my breast. Like in a children's fairy story I revealed to you a dragon's secret weakness, for a clever little hobbit to capitalize on, all to make my death seem more believable. Before anyone else, even before the old wizard, I knew you bore the _One Ring_, and began to lay my plans for the victory I have now attained. I could have taken it from you then, of course, but I knew it might corrupt even me if I dared possess it, just as it did both Galadriel and Gandalf."

The eyes of several in the boat widened in astonishment as Smaug mentioned the corruption of Galadriel and Gandalf. Some prophetic sort of magic, some there thought, though Frodo, who recorded the account in the great red book had a gut-wrenching fear that the reason was far more mundane, and even sinister, but said nothing of it, and prudently let the dragon continue his story.

"Yesss, I knew that a great war was brewing, even at that early date, and that I would be forced to become embroiled in it unless everyone believed I was dead." A deep chuckle arose from his gullet as the dragon rolled backwards, inhaling deeply to fill his lungs and float, belly up to reveal no evidence of any old wound or missing scales on his chest, but also displaying a body much thicker and rotund compared to the lithe, catlike physique which Bilbo remembered from their last meeting nearly over sixty years before. "Not even a scar, as you can plainly see," the dragon boasted. "Oh, and the bones, the physical proof of my sad demise? I knew there would be a few brave souls daring to venture out to the spot where I plunged, wishing to confirm my death. They wouldn't see anything for weeks though because my fall, and the town's destruction would churn up the silt, but as it eventually cleared, down in the murky depths they would glimpse a scattering of large bones and glittering scales – not dragon bones of course, but the bones of some of my larger prey, oliphants and such that would look convincing enough in the dark water, just as you have confirmed. The dragon scales would be real enough, but I had shed a good many of them in all the years I made Erebor my home. "

Perhaps in the creeping senility of his old age,, and despite the deadly danger they all faced, Bilbo was mightily intrigued with the wicked wyrm's tale, and brazenly asked, "I suppose that must all be true for here you are as plain as day, oh _Great Smaug, the Most Cunning of Dragons_. But there were a fair number in Lake Town that survived the calamity, and many fearful eyes were upon you in the sky all the while, yet no one left alive to tell the tale spoke of Smaug the Destroyer trundling along a great peddler's pack of old bones when he came calling on the unfortunate place."

Chortling smugly, Smaug retorted, "Truly spoken old burglar, but I indeed carried the bones and scales there that very night, all rolled up in one of the long tapestries that hung in the old dwarven king's hall under the mountain, and held the bundle close to my body so no one would notice. I made my first pass over the town with my back to the ground, turning about only at the last moment to drop the packet of bones just above the water, letting my tail splash the moment I dropped them, so no one would be the wiser. I made note of that spot, for it would be there that I would make my dive, after I sufficiently fired the town in rightful retribution for their joining your plot. So after a bit of fun burning the place, I plainly showed my imaginary weak spot to present a good target. Shortly thereafter, I felt the black arrow strike true on the spot I had made up for the occasion, and though it bounced off like all the rest on my hard, hard scales, I gave a convincing shriek feigning pain, and then plunged down just where I dropped the bones. Then I swam underwater to the far shore and quietly slipped away through the dense smoke while everyone watched Lake Town burn."

"Remarkable!" exclaimed Bilbo, "You must truly be the cleverest of dragons, oh great _Smaug the Unpredictable._ And am I correct to say that you seem even bigger, grander now than I remember, oh Tremendous One."

"Yesss, yesss, dragons really never stop growing, particularly when they feed so well as I have done since last we met. I suppose I'm a good two or three spear lengths longer now. But speaking of old bones, I have one to pick with a certain deceitful hobbit, and perhaps I may pick his own bones from between my teeth after that!" Smaug said with wicked glee. Using the paw that did not hold Gandalf's staff, he gingerly plucked Bilbo from the boat and dropped the hobbit on his own rotund belly. Then the long neck craned down to the hobbit's level, and Bilbo again faced those terrible teeth, and felt the rank, steaming breath on his face, as Smaug's long muzzle loomed close enough to touch.


	3. Chapter 2: The Revelations of Smaug

As the great fire drake's jaws opened again, poor Bilbo shrieked and closed his eyes, fearing the worst, but when he felt no teeth or fire he slowly opened them again. Smaug waited until the old hobbit had gained his composure, and then spoke again. "Despite your fine talk of how happy you are to see me alive and well, I have it on good account that this same Bilbo Baggins has bragged and boasted how he so cleverly tricked the very dragon before you to his untimely death, by inducing him through flattery into foolishly revealing his only weakness, and even took a share of the poor, dead dragon's treasure for his part in the plot, a dragon who had never harmed the hair on any hobbit in all of his long, long life".

Bilbo's face grew very red, and his voice halting at the dragon's truthful accusation. "I-I- can't recollect ever saying such a thing, Your Prodigiousness, oh Mighty Smaug, but I must confess that we hob-hobbits are prone to small vices such as the love of drink and tobacco, and sometimes partake a tad too much of the ale in our many celebrations and feast days. With our brains so addled, our tongues become loose, and I regret to say that in this state we may not always say what what might exactly be the truth, oh Great Smaug the Magnanimous and Merciful?"

"Liar!" the dragon angrily retorted, his terrible teeth and breath coming all too close again. "Now it is my turn to pose the riddle to you, though admittedly, not a very challenging one I suspect. So Burglar, answer me this: what is red in color, bound in leather, and written by two hobbits that might at any moment just might find themselves this day, stewing away, deep down beneath the very spot where you are now standing, hmm?"

Now Bilbo was truly terrified, and his closest friends in the boat were even more alarmed, for if the dragon now possessed or even saw the book in question, it could only have been the night before, and if so, what then had become of poor Sam, Pippin and Merry? "Well, thief and liar," Smaug hissed, "answer the riddle!"

The old hobbit fearfully stuttered his reply. "The answer is a b-book, oh Great Smaug the Forgiving. 'Tis a j-journal, really, recording my travels, and then those of my nephew Frodo. They naturally go together, since Frodo is kin, and we were both bearers of the One Ring. B-but may I ask, h-how you came to kn-know so much about this book, and when, old-old friend?"

To everyone's relief Smaug backed up some, and the anger in him seemed to instantly dissipate, suggesting it was really just for show, for it was now replaced by a visage of sly triumph and even amusement. It seemed that the drake's great anger was only an act meant to terrify the poor hobbit, though everyone suspected more, real terror might still be in store for them all. With immense smugness the dragon continued. "It was only the past evening that I became acquainted with the tome itself, though I must confess that I have interrogated, tortured and eaten enough dwarves, elves and men since our last meeting to gain some prior knowledge of the history that the book contains, not to mention my own involvement in some of the very events. There are some mistakes, of course, such as the report of my death, and leaving out my role in protecting your nephew throughout many of his misadventures, but this bears testament to my guile and cunning, and therefore no fault of either you or Frodo. Perhaps I will allow both of you to amend this history with my own great achievements in overthrowing Sauron, conquering Erebor and the dwarves a second time, the total annihilation of the elves, and my soon to be role as the Lord of all Middle Earth." The dragon took in the looks of both anger and astonishment among his captive audience, and seemed well pleased with the reaction to his revelations.

Elrond tried to speak against these provocative remarks, but the dragon's magic stifled him. Smaug knew well how it must irk the elvish Lords, and Gandalf too, when he dropped hints of such cataclysmic events, yet ignored such imminent personages as they, simply to make small talk about a book with the insignificant Bilbo, so the dragon drawled on. "But as to my actual acquiring the volume – well, you see, when not about other pressing business of late such as burning out dwarven kingdoms under mountains, I secretly lair up in a cave in the Gray Banks, to keep an eye on the port so that I might later detain, far out to sea, certain departing ships, much as you have just experienced. From my vantage point yesterday evening, I could see that there was to be a curious group of passengers for this next voyage, and in one of the finest white Swan Ships I have yet seen, one fit for elvish royalty to be sure. Among the trav..."

Smaug abruptly stopped, closed his eyes, and for a moment seemed to swoon with pleasure. The elves and Gandalf alike sensed that the mental power which held them in place seemed to diminish. Hoping the monster was in the throes of a stroke or other malady, Gandalf strove to break the hold over him, and while it was weaker, it was still to no avail. Speaking to no one in particular, the dragon mumbled unintelligible words but then a distinctly elvish name, which shocked the ship's captain and remaining sailors, for it was the very name of the sailor which Smaug had so cruelly swallowed alive before their very eyes during the attack on the ship. The eyes of Galadriel and Elrond met with fearful comprehension, for this seemed to affirm that the old stories of a dragon's ability to take the souls of those beings it consumed alive, for how else could the monster have learned that name? But in the next instant Smaug shook his hoary head and emerged from the trance-like state, continuing his tale as if nothing had happened.

"Hmm, now where was I? Ah yes, among the travelers were seemingly high ranking elves, a certain white wizard, a large horse and two diminutive, though adult persons who were clearly much slighter than dwarves. Even from that distance I knew that the passengers had to be the very plotters of my attempted assassination, and that the two small beings were hobbits, who of course could only be the remarkable Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, for what hobbits but these two Ring-Bearers would be given the honor to go to the Undying Lands of the elves, hmm? You can understand then how much I would relish this meeting we are now having. But yesterday evening I thought all in good time, all in good time - for there could be no escape from me on the wide, wide ocean, and I saw something else of interest that would postpone our rendezvous for a time. The younger of the two hobbits, which that would be you, Master Frodo Baggins," (Smaug said as a golden eye seemed to bore into the young hobbit), "handed off an intriguing package of some obvious importance to three other of similar breed and age, who after many sad and solemn goodbyes, left the port on some particularly fat and tasty-looking ponies".

Smaug took in with glee his audience's looks of dread, as he continued his tale. "The three traveled another two hours, near about, and then settled into camp around a cheery fire, where I was wont to join them. They tried to run away, of course, but I quickly looped by body and tail around them so there was nowhere to go. Once they settled down a bit, I enquired after the mysterious package, and was reluctantly presented with a suitable present that fits my station, in the form of the grand red book, which I was delighted to see was a history of sorts, and one of which I played no small part of course. While this dragon is the master of many languages, I do require a glass to read such small print and not having one about me given the circumstances, all through the night I obliged the young hobbits to read excerpts to me that were of the greatest interest, while I had a fine supper of ponies, since they would not require them for the rest of their, um, journey, so to speak. All through the night they read, while I inquired about certain events, and then they would turn to that part of the book and read more. All in all, I was quite happy to confirm that my suspicions of a conspiracy of elves, dwarves and a certain wizard plotting to murder me were quite correct, and therefore my revenge exacted so far to be fully justified. When I had heard enough, I departed to catch up with your ship, gathering up my great spear from its hidden place and leaving the red book safely there. I first flew, and then swam through the night following your flapping sails in the moonlight, only to skewer your ship this fine morning like I have done so many times before. And now here we are, my having a fine reunion with my old acquaintance Mister Bilbo Baggins after so many years since our last meeting", Smaug concluded with a devilish grin, well-knowing how he cruelly vexed them by deliberately failing to mention the exact fate of the three young hobbits.

Bilbo could not prevent his eyes from staring down at the enormous belly he stood upon, wondering if what remained of Merry, Pippin, and Sam could, along with the recent sailor and ponies, be the source of the subtle but disturbing sounds of gurgling and growling emanating deep beneath the very mound of dragon scale and flesh he stood upon. He wished to know their fate, of course, but at the same time feared the worst if he pressed Smaug to answer the question directly. The boat bobbed close against the dragon's flank so all could hear the conversation, Smaug discerning the dread on their faces as well, especially Frodo's, who was the closest of all to the three. The hobbit was mustering the courage to pose the question to the dragon, when Smaug, anticipating it, curtly said, "Where are your three young friends now, you wonder? Let's just say that once I have settled my affairs with the Old Wizard and the elves, you should be _joining them_, but enough of this talk about those three, for they are rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things."

Smaug seemed rather amused by his cryptic response, but could see it may have not satisfied Bilbo, who still stared down at the massive gut beneath him. "Do you wish to delve _deeper_ into the matter, old burglar? I'm sure that can be arranged," Smaug said as he thrummed his taut belly with the talons of a forepaw.

In his apprehension, Bilbo flustered, and rather lamely sought to change the subject, though the fate of the three hobbits was still clearly on his mind. "Oh no, your Mag - magnificence. It is only that my vantage point, here where you have placed me, I couldn't help but notice, um... that not only are you much longer since we last met, but you seem, ... um, more...more robust as well, not just from your recent dinner and br-breakfast, but a more lasting addition to your majestic frame. I suppose you have been feasting on a good many fat _oliphants_ in the Southlands during the many years you were gone, _Your Gargantuan-ness_, oh Greatest of Dragons?"

Smaug evoked a wicked grin, and patted the great mound of a belly, careful not to crush the hobbit atop it. "Sooo, you mean to say I've grown too fat, hmm? Well, I do not deny it; I have indeed put on far too many pounds, but not from eating great _oliphants_ as you fairly suspect." He then markedly turned his gaze directly at the elves in the boat and said with a wolfish grin, "No, I am afraid that since our last meeting, I have become hopelessly addicted to far fairer prey, though I regret I must dispense with this craving soon enough, due the growing scarcity of the delicacy - which, I suspect will become even scarcer after this very day, hmm?"

Smaug then shifted his head only inches from those in the boat, leering close enough that they might feel the steam of his breath, and forcing them to inhale none but the fetid air that left his mouth. Then he said to them in a low, whispering voice as though he were sharing a great secret with a close friend, "For you see, while you all thought your schemes of murder were successful, and you believed poor old trusting, innocent Smaug was dead, dead, dead and gone, I had actually migrated over the sea to establish my new residence in the very place you all are now headed, Valinor, in the Undying Lands of the elves. Methinks that the _Dying Lands _is now a more apt description of that place however, for the past sixty or so years I have exacted my revenge, pulling down the sacred monuments, looting your treasures and devouring all of those already there, and always watching, never allowing a boat to escape and bring back news of the calamity. And when the great migration of the elves began, I preyed upon each and every shipload that departed the shores of Middle Earth. With my great wooden spear, I have stove in the hulls of each ship, just as yours, sinking them cleanly and leaving no wreckage to wash ashore so no one would be the wiser. So on and on they came, one ship after another, like an unending swarm of lemmings streaming headlong to their destruction. So now you know why I am so fat, fat, fat, it is all elves, thousands of elves, all of the elves in the wide, wide world, save for the very few that haven't embarked from Middle Earth yet – but their time to join the rest will come soon enough", he ended with a lick of his fangs, and an audible snap of his toothy jaws.

To this came gasps of anguish and outrage from the elvish passengers, for now Smaug let up his power over them, so they could speak. Galadriel rose from her seat and shakily spoke. "You lie, monster. We are the favored peoples of the Valar, and they would never allow such a wicked and unclean thing as you, dragon, to defile their sacred land and consume their people."

Mocking fear, Smaug replied, "Really now? Those Valar, they are your gods, I take it? I don't recall seeing any gods, just terrified and helpless elves, like sheep before a wolf. Just what exactly do these God's of yours look like?"

"You surely most know of them", chided Galadriel, "For one of them, Melkor by name, was evil, and he created all things wicked and fell in the world, including you dragons. He is your God".

Smaug snorted in derision, and then evoked an air of both amusement and skepticism. "Really now? I have pillaged the treasures and devoured the inhabitants of Valinor for over half a century now, yet no gods came forth to avenge all those who in their last moments prayed and beseeched them for deliverance from my jaws. You will forgive me lady if I do not subscribe to your naive superstitions. You elves measure your lineage in the thousands of years, while we dragons have existed on this world for millions. We then, of all of the intelligent, speaking races must truly be the favorites of the Creator. The truth of the matter is that my own sire, Ancalagon the Black, lived before there even were true elves, dwarves and men as you know them now, and told me such when I was a youngling. The reason we dragons refer to all of you talking _two-leggers_ as _apelings_ is not from derision, no, no, no, but because you are exactly that. Once, long ago, you were hardly better than animals. What separated you from the true apes was simply the fact you were just slightly cleverer, and unlike the lower apes, learned to use tools of sharpened stones. There were only men then, _cave-men_, for lack of a better term, for they lived in caves like a bear and wore the skins of the animals they slew. For thousands of years the a_pelings_ worshiped dragons alone, happily feeding us your most beautiful maids and first born children to insure you would have good crops, plentiful rain, and such, but as you grew more proud and haughty, and feared the powers of nature less and less, it was you, who created gods in your own image. But surely you imagine them far bigger than yourselves, if you would believe they could thwart a dragon such as I? Do you suppose they are titans perhaps, elves as tall as a dragon or at least the size a troll, hmm? Some of the less enlightened human races who do not worship dragons believe their gods are giant versions of themselves. Yet I saw no such gods in all the years that I devastated Valinor".

All the while, Galadriel tried to interrupt the dragon's blasphemy, but the beast's power stifled her until he finished. Then he let up, and she spoke defiantly, saying "You lie, monster. The Valar are living beings for I have seen them with my own eyes, met them, even spoke to some of them. They are much like us in size and appearance, only far more powerful."

Smaug put one talon to his chin, and shook his great head knowingly saying, "Ah, Lady, I believe I now recall those of whom you speak, though I never took them to be gods. A dozen in all they were, or perhaps fourteen? Six or seven pairs evenly matched, male and female. Yes, they were more powerful in magic than I sense you are, perhaps even more handsome and beautiful than all other elves, is such a thing is possible. Girded in the finest armor of mithril inlaid with gold they were, even the women, and all in the fashion of the elvish heroes of old. And not only that, but they were equipped with fearsome, enchanted weapons that even a dragon might do well to respect..." Then Smaug paused, apparently for dramatic effect, rubbed the side of his belly, careful not to crush Bilbo, and gazed there, continuing his tale with a devilish grin. "You'll forgive me if I didn't give them the proper respect elvish gods should be entitled, but I fear they were deceiving you with such claims of divinity all these many years. They were no gods I assure you – unless you believe this old dragon should henceforth be known as _Smaug_, _The Devourer of Gods. hmm?_ I do admit it is a worthy title, and has a pleasing ring to it, but I would never be so vain to acknowledge such a thing. No, Milady, trust the words of a true connoisseur in these matters, for while they were quite delicious, and though possessed with the most powerful spirits I have yet absorbed - they still tasted much the same as any other Elf, and what remained of them that my body could not use passed as smoothly through my bowels as all of the rest have."

Smaug playfully released his magical hold on them a little, so they could vent their rage at his sacrilege. As one, they stood, and shouted, calling the dragon a liar and deceiver. The wily old wyrm simply grinned, showing those ivory fangs, and concentrating, shut their mouths and pulled them back down to their seats. "Has it still not occurred to you yet? How dragons can spew flame from their mouths, and are able to fly like a bird, unhindered despite our great weight? Or why your own magic, or that of the White Wizard in our midst cannot now affect me? You sense the power but do not realize from whence it came? I will tell you the secret now, though I believe some of you suspect the reason. Dragons do not swallow their _Apeling_ prey alive simply to be unnecessarily cruel, as you probably imagine, though I do suspect it is indeed a terrifying fate, and one which you are all wondering if you might experience yourselves on this very day, hmm?"

And at that, has cast them a hungry gaze, but blinking once, he smiled amiably saying, "But no, it is not in a dragon's nature to be deliberately cruel by swallowing up elves, men and dwarves alive and kicking. Rather, it is simply to insure that when the prey expires, it's soul will not drift off up into the ether, but instead will be trapped deep within the dragon, and absorbed by its own soul, just as surely as its body, _my body_, absorbs everything useful in their flesh, blood and bones. All of their spiritual power, and even their knowledge and memories then become those of the dragon. Do you remember how I seemed to swoon a bit some minutes past? You were probably hoping I was having a stroke, but in truth, it was the very moment that the elvish sailor you saw me swallow finally succumbed to my belly and released his soul. All of his thoughts and memories, his spiritual energy as well, came flooding into my mind. Consuming lesser souls, like those of mere men hardly affect me, for they are such short lived creatures with far fewer memories or spiritual power. But even so, think of how powerful the spirits of mere men can be. Did they not thwart the Corsair fleet and orcs to break the siege of Minas Tirith? Every sentient being I have ever consumed has added to both my knowledge and power. Ah, but elves who have lived for centuries, acquiring ever more knowledge in their long, long lives, hmm? Consuming and absorbing their souls is among my greatest delights, for acquiring new knowledge is as pleasurable to a dragon as acquiring new treasures – and a good deal more useful too. Is it any wonder then, how greatly I might anticipate the veritable feast of both flesh and knowledge provided by such an esteemed group as yourselves, not to mention being my bitterest of enemies besides, so richly deserving of such a fate?"

Smaug paused his tirade long enough to let the grim facts sink into the minds of his doomed captives. If it were not horrible enough to be eaten alive by the beast, wondering what sort of pain and suffering such a fate might entail, they now knew for certain that all hope of any afterlife were to be lost as well. And if that were not enough, even their darkest, most intimate secrets would be bared to the dragon, likely furnishing the monster with great amusement.

Now in tears as she realized the dragon's terrible truth, Galadriel shakily spoke. "Tha-tha-that's just not possible, and even if it were, how could you do anything so horrible?"

"Horrible? Me? Do not forget Milady that I was at peace with everyone, sleeping contentedly on my treasure when you, and the rest of the White Council plotted with those greedy dwarves to murder me in my sleep. Gandalf there, recruited the hobbit burglar and encouraged the dwarves, and then sent them all on their merry way before he even bothered to confer with you others, so sure of himself that you would agree. Interesting that he somehow avoided sharing the danger he placed all of them in, hmm?. For centuries I thought there had been an understanding among elves and dragons to respect the lives of one another, and not to meddle in each other's affairs. After all, we are the two wisest and longest lived races in all the world and therefore we should be friends. When I first took the dwarven city under the mountain, the elves wisely did not interfere, nor should they have, for it was none of their concern. But mark this well, for I swore long, long ago, that if ever the three a_peling_ races of dwarves, elves and men should unite and conspire to kill this peaceful old dragon, it would mean war, war, war to the death. So when you all thought I was safely dead and gone, I began my war in earnest, and upon the most deadly, yet vulnerable foe, which of course, were the elves. One by one, ship by ship, the elves' one way trip to the Land of the Undying really become a one way trip through this dragon's innards, for all who have undertaken this pilgrimage", (and at that the point he paused, to lick his long pink tongue over his ivory teeth for emphasis), "have suffered this fate - or honor, depending on how you look at it."

Elrond then spoke, "What of the Valar, the Chosen ones of the Creator that you claim to have devoured? You could not have consumed too many elves, and gained so much power before they likely confronted you, for they surely would not long endure your blight on the Blessed Land."

"A wise observation, and worthy of the one who must now be the eldest surviving elf left in all the wide, wide world", Smaug smugly retorted. "I had certainly intended to tell you that story, and now, I suppose, is the time. When I first arrived in Valinor, only scant days after my concocted death, I naturally sought out the most sacred places where the greatest treasures might me kept. After all, I was unjustly deprived of my former hoard in Erebor and dragons sleep soundest on a bed of treasure. A bit of hot dragon fire will loosen the tongue of an Elf, as surely as any other _Apeling_. While none did so willingly, to be sure, once they were consumed alive and I took their souls, I could draw on their very memories to get the information I required. Soon I learned that a so-called _Temple of the Mysteries _was said to hold the greatest treasures in all of Valinor, though its entry restricted to all but the Valar themselves. I sought it out and indeed, they were right about its mystery. It is in the North of the Undying Lands, as you probably know, in a region of volcanic activity much like Mount Doom, and built in such a mountain not unlike my previous home in Erebor. It was deserted, so there were none to tell me of its purpose and history. The first curiosities were the very doors of the place, for they were large enough for a dragon of my size to enter unhindered, also like the doors of Erebor. The handles were of finely wrought Mithril in the form of dragons and fashioned to fit my forepaw perfectly. As I entered, I was greeted by steamy warmth in a great hall uncannily similar to that in my former home in The Lonely Mountain. Priceless treasures too, of great antiquity were all around, beautiful things sure to please a dragon's eye. But unlike the dwarven hall, this one featured a great pool of hot water, fed by a natural spring heated by volcanic activity deep within the bowels of the Earth. It seemed so inviting and so perfectly proportioned to the body of a large dragon such as myself. In the dimly-lit hall I could not see the bottom, but as I eased in I could feel that the costly alabaster pool lining was perfectly sculpted to conform to a dragon's reposing back, right down to a groove for our dorsal spines. As I laid there in perfect comfort, powerful jets of water massaged my back and sides. It didn't overflow, for near the base of my tail was a drain, so well placed and ingeniously designed that a bathing dragon could even loose his bowels right then and there and never foul the ever flowing stream of hot mineral water. Having devoured a full score and six of elves the previous day, combined with the soothing effect of the jets of hot water, I felt compelled to test the lavatory function of the bath that very moment and it performed superbly."

Smaug paused a moment to relish the expressions of both revulsion and astonishment in the faces of every elf, as he revealed in perfect nonchalance how he had used their most secret and sacred place as both his bath and toilet. And worse still, was the awful realization he knew they must be experiencing, knowing that the amazing architectural achievement was apparently not created as an elvish temple at all, but as a pleasure-palace for what could have only been an enormous, slothful dragon much like the one before them. Gandalf sought to rob the uncouth Wyrm of a bit of his victory, so spoke sternly to the beast (for Smaug had lifted his power over them a bit), saying, "Very well, Dragon, you have proven through your very own words why right-thinking elves, men and dwarves should want to make an end of so vile a creature as yourself, but tell us now of the fate of the Valar".

"Patience, old White Beard, patience", Smaug gently scolded. "I'm getting to that, but your interruption reminds me of how so much talking does tend to spur the appetite." He glanced down at Bilbo, saying, "What is the term you Hobbits have for it. Ah yes, _second breakfast_, so let's see, who is the least significant among you, the stallion, maybe? " Smaug licked his scaly lips in mock anticipation, knowing the distress it would bring Gandalf. Shadowfax whinnied in terror, for being a Mearas horse, he could understand the speech of men, and therefore, of dragons too. "No, that would be too much for the moment and might make me sleepy." Then, with no other warning, a huge forearm emerged from the water with a swiftness that belied its great size, and deftly plucked the most convenient sailor, positioned on the seat closest to the dragon's reach. The captured elf screamed as did others in the boat and though the White Wizard and elvish mages again attempted to fight the dragon with their magic, they were stayed as before by the immense invisible power that flowed from the creature. Irritated by the shouts and screams, the dragon stifled these too, and casually stripped the hapless Elf of his clothing and shoes and tossed him into his gaping maw and swallowed, as he continued to talk, as a man might sup on a grape of fig in the midst of conversation as if nothing had happened.

"Ah, now where was I? Yes, as I relaxed in the steaming water, I could see that the pool had been designed for a larger dragon than myself, for there were foot rests with holes which jetted hot water to comfort the soles, that I could not quite reach then, though during my many years stay in Valinor, and with such a bountiful food supply, I eventually grew to reach them. There was a staircase as well, made to the size of elves and men, that wound up the wall to a platform somewhat over my head, but if I had been larger, like the size of the dragon it was obviously designed for, then I would be eye level to the little visitors, servants, or even sacrifices, like the lovely maidens of Dale that I have long missed, but look forward to in the near future, as the city has been rebuilt and with an even larger population than before. But as I soaked in that bath it dawned on me. In my distant memory I recalled my sire, the great Ancalagon the Black, speaking of such things when I was but a whelp of a dragon, more interested in hunting game and wrestling with my siblings than listening to family history. Likely with the help of magic, he had bred common men into a new, superior race, more handsome and beautiful than humans, and practically ageless. But he did not do these things for their benefit, oh no, no, no – but simply to make each and every one of his new servants and food animals always pleasing to his palette no matter how old, not to mention beautiful singing voices for his pleasure. So well trained they were, he said, that they would walk right into his jaws if he wished them to, just as the staircase I studied could lead nowhere else but to a dragon's waiting jaws seemed to confirm.. It dawned on me then, that those created, inbred, Apeling pets of his were no other than your elvish ancestors, and it was he who was the true Lord of Valinor as that great dragon's palace confirmed. He had created your unnatural race by taking the best traits of various stocks of men; much like Mr. Baggins here might have bred a flock of spotted, floppy eared rabbits from common ones if he had cared to.

Smaug viewed their astonished faces in triumphant delight, but kept his hold on them to prevent any interruptions. So you see, my sire, Ancalagon then, is your Creator, your own true God, not the Elder elves you call the Valar. " And then the great winged wyrm laughed so hard poor Bilbo crouched down and grabbed hold of a rough belly scute, lest he fall off into the sea. "And do you know, that when I took my revenge on the Dwarves only a few days ago, that I clawed up the floor tiles in the Great Hall, and there was a filled in dragon's bath under it, of the same style and size as that in Valinor? It would seem that the great hall under The Lonely Mountain was also built for a dragon that could be none other than the same Ancalagon. They seem that they were his summer and winter homes as I suspected. And when I sought him out in the East, my Sire told me that he bred the Dwarves from men, just as he did the Elves, to work his mines and build his palaces. You _apelings_ regard us as invaders from the Northern Wastelands, but in truth, we had lived here thousands, even millions of years before you ever existed."

The faces of all the elves and Gandalf too, reddened in their rage and consternation, but Smaug kept their jaws tight with his power, to vex them all the more, and went on with his prattle. "In any case, you now can see that you were never the chosen race of any real gods, and your precious Valar were merely the eldest of your breed. You were created to be no more than attractive servants and food animals for my father, who by the way, was never killed by an Elf some ridiculous flying boat, or some such similar nonsense as your fairy stories say. Be assured that no man, elf or dwarf has ever killed a real dragon, the very thought of such a thing is utterly laughable. Ancalagon indeed departed these lands – not in death or defeat, for there was never any war between good elvish gods and a fallen one, but it's a good story I may use when I become the God of men. No, my great Sire left the lands you call Middle Earth simply to court a mate in the far eastern lands where I was conceived and hatched. He lives there yet, for I went to call on him not long ago when the winter season stopped the White Ships from coming to feed me. He and my mother rule there still, worshiped as much-loved Gods by the humans. He confirmed what I have told you about the origins of dwarves and elves, but said too that he had learned his lesson. He never bred elves from men again, and he much regretted doing so in Middle Earth, for it is unwise to give _Apelings_ such a long life, for they are bound to think themselves wiser than they really are, and then get into mischief – plotting against their dragon betters just as you have done. Ancalagon was pleased and much relieved by my efforts ridding the earth of you unnatural creatures that he had created in his younger days when he admitted he was less wise than he is today. "

Grinning in his triumph, Smaug let off a little of his magical hold on them to see what they would say. The Elves took the moment to discuss the dragon's shocking revelations among themselves, though Gandalf was compelled to question the Fire Drake on another matter, for he had, in his last tirade, casually mentioned his destruction of the great dwarven city beneath Lonely Mountain. "What's this about sacking Erebor a second time, Dragon? I know the Dwarves rebuilt the ruined doors, and they withstood a great siege by the Easterlings during the late war. We have heard no news of your return there, much less of a dragon destroying the place."

Smaug seemed all too happy enough to elaborate on yet another of his triumphs over old enemies. "It was not long ago, a few weeks at best, so it is unlikely you would have heard news of it. And how does that saying go, _dead dwarves tell no tales_, hmm? As you might imagine, I greatly desired to take my revenge on the dwarves first of all, for the plot began with them, though manipulated by you, of course, so much of the blame for all of this death falls directly on your shoulders, Old Wizard. But I had to discipline myself, and wait these many years. I could not reveal that I was still alive until the war was finished and Sauron and the better part of his minions destroyed to save me the bother of killing them later. And besides, all the while I was consuming boatloads of clueless, migrating elves which only increased my strength and size. But when I finally did return to Erebor, these many years since, it was well worth the wait. To my delight, it seemed that nearly all the dwarves in the world had flocked there, bringing with them far more treasure than when I had departed. Wiping them out was a simple affair, hardly a night's work, for after the plot to murder me; I would not show them the mercy they were granted when I first took their kingdom."

"Since when have you ever shown anyone mercy?" Gandalf shakily spat, his exhaustion from supporting Shadowfax all this time evident in his voice.

"I can rid you of your heavy burden any moment you wish, Old Wizard", Smaug hissed as he craned his head low over the little boat to lick the stallion's neck. Shadowfax whinnied in terror and broke loose from Gandalf's grip, swimming away from the boat to his inevitable doom in the vast ocean. "Come back old friend!" Gandalf cried.

Smaug's belly sank lower in the water, causing Bilbo to scramble to the highest point, as the dragon's great tail fished for the fleeing stallion, which he snagged and looped with his tail, holding the stallion's head above the waves. "Smaug the Merciful has just saved your horse from drowning. And I was as merciful to the dwarves as well on the day I first took _The_ _Kingdom Under the Mountain_. Yes, I killed those that stood and fought, of course, and ate them too, though I do not care much for the taste of dwarf. But hundreds, perhaps even thousands were allowed to flee alive. And see how I was repaid with my charity? Vengeful sons and kinsmen, mercenary, thieving hobbits, and scheming elves and wizards all trying to kill a poor old dragon who only wished to return to the ancestral home of his father, and live out his years there in peaceful slumber. But your failed attempt at murder caused me to see the error of my ways of compassion and generosity. So this time I repaid the dwarves in kind. On a moonless night I landed atop The Lonely Mountain, and covered every air vent with earth and clay. They were craftily hidden to be sure, but my nose sniffed them all out, for they could not hide the stench of dwarf that wafted up from the halls of Erebor. I resealed the old tunnel which Bilbo and the Dwarves used so there could be no escape. Then I waited above until a great door was opened to bring in a train of wagons bearing ore to be refined. I knew they were coming, and would arrive that very night. Just as the first wagon was halfway through, I leapt down, and for hours I belched flame until I was exhausted. While dragon fire could not reach everyone, the flames consumed all of the good air, and those not roasted alive would have surely suffocated. I slipped in afterwards to confirm no soul still lived, and to dig up the floor of the Great Hall to confirm my suspicions. Lo and behold, I found another dragon bath underneath, confirming that this was another palace of my father's, like that in Valinor, and therefore my rightful inheritance and property all along. The entire place was filled with the aroma of smoked dwarf, which I confess smells much the same as smoked hams, which I recall from my younger days, when I was not above raiding farmsteads and inns. I do not know how many thousands I cooked and smoked that night, but when I return I will force the men of Dale to pull their desiccated corpses out of every nook and cranny, and then hang them all by the feet high in the Old Kings Hall, like so many smoked hams to dine upon at my leisure. Then I will have the hot pool dug out and repaired, like the one in my summer residence in Valinor. While I do not care much for dwarf even alive and kicking, much less smoked, the sweet taste of revenge might make them a bit more palatable if ever I should feel a bit peckish between the monthly maiden sacrifices which Dale will furnish me again. Ah, but in any case, as I exited the city I pulled the first ore wagon out of the way, shut the great metal door, and heaped all twenty-two wagon loads of ore bearing rock in front of them, effectively sealing them off to any _apeling_, so that I alone might open them when I go back there. It was a moonless night, and I do not believe a single soul in Dale realized I had returned, despite how close to them I came, but they will come to know it soon enough, for when I next return, I'll land in the right in the town square, and on the busiest market day to demand that my old monthly quota of tasty young maidens of tender age will be doubled as punishment for the Lake Men helping the dwarves, and their impudence to shoot arrows at me."

Gandalf was sickened with grief, for although he wished to deny it, he knew that every terrible thing Smaug had claimed to have done, had indeed come to pass, and he alone was most responsible for stirring up the sleeping dragon – and therefore all of the subsequent death and destruction that had followed. The monster was right, he had outsmarted them all. What folly of the White Council to so crassly underestimate so deadly and cunning a creature. He knew that the dragon would take him, and the rest of the elves he had trapped this day, but perhaps he could save the innocent hobbits and Shadowfax too, who was much more than a common horse. He could not undo what he had done, but perhaps if he humbled himself and admitted defeat, he could dissuade the dragon to end the carnage. He was tired, so, so tired. He stood up and ambled to the prow of the little boat, ushering Smaug to bring his frightening head close again to hear every word. For the very first time he addressed the creature by his name and common title, instead of contemptuously addressing him merely as Dragon. "Oh Great Smaug the Magnificent hear me now. You have laid low the enemies that sought to destroy you save for the few left in this boat. I beseech you to spare the two hobbits and the Mearas stallion, Shadowfax, for they had no part in our plot. You have virtually annihilated the races of Elf and Dwarf, and I ask now that you spare the race of men, for they were they had no part in it. It was not with personal malice toward you that the council leant assistance to the company of dwarves, but it was with the concern you would ally yourself with Sauron in the war that was to come."

"Thank you Oh White Wizard, for your honest confession, and heartfelt supplications", Smaug responded with a wolfish grin. So that then was what possessed the greatest elves and wizards to secretly meet and plot. Though why you would have thought I would willingly become a thrall of Sauron is beyond me. Fools! Had you come to me in honest parley, instead of sending dwarven assassins to murder me in my sleep, I would have become an ally in your war, for if Sauron won, he would try to control we dragons too. If you had entrusted me with the One Ring, I would have carried it to Mount Doom in the very beginning, and saved the innumerable thousands who died unnecessarily in the war. But you chose treachery instead, yet how could someone so old and wise as yourself ever believe that a mere thirteen dwarves and a halfling burglar could slay me when I have destroyed whole armies of dwarves and men in my long, long life? It is beyond all common sense and smacks with the naivety of a badly written fairy story which only a small child could believe. And you surely must have known that had such an absurd plan failed I would have likely destroyed Lake Town in retaliation, and justly so, for their obvious implication in the plot. It would seem Great Gandalf the White, that you have become dangerously senile in your old age – a reckless fool responsible for the deaths of countless thousands, first the dead of Lake Town, and later, the multitudes of elves, men and dwarves so uselessly slain for nothing in the War of the Ring when we could have defeated Sauron as allies, hmm?"

Despite the overwhelming presence of the terrifying Fire Drake, all eyes in the boat turned upon the wizard, who was left momentarily speechless by the strong words. But Smaug denied him a chance to respond, for just as Gandalf mustered the words of a reply, the dragon began again, now in a more compassionate tone. "But fear not, for I have no intention of harming the poor hobbits, who were only pawns in your bloodthirsty schemes. And as for the Mearas horse, he has more use carrying the hobbits safely to their home, than as my supper, for there still seems to be food enough floating about here for a splendid repast, hmm? As for the race of men, I have no intention of destroying them for unlike elves, dwarves and wizards, they are natural creatures and belong to this world. Moreover, it is in their nature to worship their betters, we dragons, as verily is the case in the distant lands both to the East and West. To be sure though, what lands you know as the Middle Earth will begin anew, cleansed of all unnatural creatures such as elves, Dwarves, Orcs, Goblins, and especially all Sorcerers and Wizards, to be sure. It will again become a safe place for peaceful dragons to raise their families, with no danger of a young one falling victim to greedy dwarves, or pompous elves armed with enchanted weapons and similar cowardly devices these unnatural races might devise. Neither men nor dragons caused the Great War of the Ring, though countless thousands of men died on both sides, mere pawns to the wizards and sorcerers that sent them to their death. Your own hands, Old Wizard, are as much stained with their blood as those of the late Sauron."

Then Smaug turned his attention to the elves. "Ah, the fate of the Valar, you can see that I have kept putting it off, though it was with good reason, as you soon shall see. Some of the cleverest of bards and poets are able to entwine their audiences into their very stories, and in that tradition so too shall all of you experience much the same with the… um, _grand finale _of this tale. Now let's see, I believe we had reached the point where I was surrounded by the fourteen most powerful elves in all the world, the very ones you call the Valar, and worship as Gods, hmm? So there I was, belly up and reposing in that steaming hot pool, sated and sleepy from my previous meal of far too many elves, and caught totally unawares. If there were ever a time in all the world's history when mere _apelings_, albeit elves, could slay a dragon in his prime, this could very well have been it. What an ignominious end, I thought, as I lie their surrounded by small, but powerful enemies. I imagined then and there that I would die a most undignified end, skewered like a pig while reposing in a hot bath. In my death agonies I envisioned myself vulgarly loose the contents of my bloated, overstuffed bowels, having the stinking mess impiously mingle with my own precious lifeblood and pass down the same sucking drain at my feet into the sewers." (At this point Smaug paused for dramatic effect, taking in the rapt attention of all the boat's occupants, and then began again). "But only an instant before their leader was sure to give the command to strike me dead, one of the females among them gave a nervous glance at the wall above, close to the curious stepped platform I mentioned before. For the first time I noticed there a line of words, in the oldest elvish dialect, formed of intricately wrought letters of hammered Mithril, artfully mortised in the surrounding polished granite. Some instinct roused me to read the lines, and read them aloud for the Valar to hear. And so I did, and easily enough, for ancient elvish is actually the native tongue of dragons, for they learned it from their dragon creator and master, my esteemed Father, Ancalagon. This is what I read: _Heed me, my children, my creations, for I now summon thee to repay..."_

Galadriel abruptly screamed as Smaug began quoting the inscription, and all of the elves in the small boat moaned and shrieked in dismay, for the words had a strange power over them, forcing them to act against their will, to do something their conscious selves dreaded.


	4. Chapter 3: In The Belly Of The Beast

Smaug's toothy muzzle subtly assumed a sinisterly gleeful grin, for the words of the inscription, as he knew they must, had the same effect now that they did on the Valar, (and on all of the innumerable other elves that he summoned into his very jaws since that first time he had first evoked the incantation). Smirking in delight, he said, "Ah, you have beaten me to the surprise, Good Lady". He began again after the Elf Maid's scream subsided, saying "_Heed me, my children, my creations, for I now summon thee to repay your Creator for the long life, wisdom and beauty he hath bestowed upon you; come to me now, for it is time for you to become one with your one true God_." Smaug watched and nodded his head approvingly as the elves stood up in the boat and in a trance-like state began to disrobe like every elf before them who had received The Summoning. He was also pleased to see that the words seemed to have affected Gandalf the very same way as the elves, though he still remained skeptical. The White Wizard had let go of Shadowfax's forelegs, and now the stallion swam away in fear until the talons of the dragon's hind leg held him in place. Of the boat's passengers, only Frodo seemed to be unaffected, and was shaking them and shouting, trying to snap them out of their enchantment until Smaug gently snatched him up with a forepaw and placed him on his belly beside Bilbo. All the while he continued his story of the Valar, though the only cognizant audience now would have likely been Frodo and Bilbo. Nonetheless, he continued the tale in all the same detail, for it was his intention to have the two hobbit authors now at his mercy to accurately amend the tales laid down in the Great Red Book and add the now unfolding chapter they were now experiencing.

Now he directed his narrative directly to the Hobbits tensely crouched on his belly. "To my immense relief, the second I began reciting the words of the inscription, the Valar dropped their enchanted weapons, and began to remove their priceless Mithril armor. Then they sloughed their undergarments too, and stark naked they purposely walked to the staircase and began climbing up it towards my waiting head." All the while as Smaug talked, he artfully coiled his long tail around the little boat, holding it fast, and where the scaly appendage's underside thickened enough to form a flat stabile walkway, (for he was still floating all the while upon his back), so that the ensorcelled elves might use it as a bridge to reach him.

Despite the obvious danger of the cold and churning waves, the now naked occupants of the small boat calmly disembarked their craft to clamber up the dragon's tail. "Up and up they went, all fourteen were now on the staircase," he said. Smaug's timing was impeccable, for just as he said this, Gandalf and the elves were also climbing something of a staircase in its own right – the flat, thick, overlapping scutes that banded the underside of the dragon's tail like the stone steps of a fortress tower. At the base of the tail however, the hard step-like scutes abruptly ended, and before the doomed company lay an obstacle which they had no choice but to surmount if they were to reach their goal. The feature was incongruous among the neatly aligned plates of hard, natural armor, but all who were now forced to take such an intimate view had no doubts as to its purpose. It was a low mound of sorts, covered in small, pebble-like scales aligned around a puckered orifice that within its depths, wet, pink, scale-less flesh could be seen. Too large to completely step over, and with the churning ocean waves on either side of it, each in the doomed procession had no choice but to precariously tread upon this private spot almost never seen, and would not now, had the dragon not been floating on his back, deliberately and shamelessly exposing it for all to view. While there were silly tavern songs aplenty that described how dwarvish and human heroes had overcome some haughty fire drake by kicking it in the testicles, the truth of the matter was that dragons, like all of the lesser reptiles, had those sensitive orbs protected beneath their scaly belly, where also was concealed their large and formidable looking reproductive organ itself, when not actively employed. It was for this reason that it was difficult to tell the sexes of dragons apart, for both had only this single 'vent' which serve both reproductive and excretory functions.

And see it the, the doomed procession did, for they had no choice but to carefully watch their step, and peer down with obvious distaste to gaze upon the puckered orifice that performed the most vulgar of bodily functions. And as surely as the cruel beast had planned, each of his victims had no choice but to contemplate with awful certainty, that soon enough, whatever pathetic remains of their now perfect, beautiful bodies not sundered by bile and absorbed by the monster's bowels, would be irreverently voided from that obscene place - reduced to nothing more than the foulest filth imaginable, as had already happened to virtually their entire race before them, as well as their very Gods!

Smaug gloated as he read the horror and disgust that distorted the usually serene visages of the once proud elves. Though they could not stay their bodies from this unnatural, inborn instinct of self destruction they now embarked upon, the looks on their faces betrayed the fact that their minds still worked, and that they knew exactly what was happening as the dragon heaped humiliation upon humiliation upon them.

Smaug prattled on with his tale, though it was now clear that only the hobbits would get much benefit from it at this point. "My head could not reach the top of the platform while reposing in the pool that day, though in the many decades that I dwelt there gorging almost daily on elves, I eventually grew to the proportions of my father. I gradually increased in height, so that my obedient, living morsels might conveniently walk from the platform directly into my very jaws, just as they must have for Ancalagon. On that day, and for many years hence, first the Valar, and later, countless lesser elves would step off the platform into my waiting jaws below. Nowhere in the land could they escape me. During my quest to eliminate them all, I discovered that I need only say the words of _The Summoning_ to any elf in earshot, and they would come out from their hiding places and walk into my jaws right then and there, or if I were too gorged at the moment and left them, they would follow me like pups behind their master back to my new home, and up the alabaster staircase as if on some holy pilgrimage, so that I might consume them at my leisure in the comfort of my steamy bath". In a voice now halting with genuine mirth as he spoke, the fat wyrm chortled, "My feedings became so regular, and my bowels so practiced by the routine, that the daily contingent of elves patiently waiting their turn to leap down my gullet could always be assured the spectacle of viewing what was to be their own certain fate by the morrow – all that remained of what had been their living friends and relatives only the day before, now being expelled in a considerably altered form from the opposite extremity they were about to enter."

Despite their wincing under the cruel and uncouth words, the ensorcelled elves could do nothing but doggedly continue their journey of self-destruction, those in the lead now clambering up the dragon's lower abdomen, where they could not help but hear the beast's stomach growl in anticipation of the coming feast that they would only too soon provide. Now so close to their destination, Smaug prepared for the final act. With one of his forepaws, he gently scooped up the hobbits on his belly, and put them higher on his chest, just above his beating heart, which they could both hear and even feel below their bare feet. It pulsed first slowly beneath the chitinous, armored scutes that no sword, spear or arrow ever made could pierce. But as the prey grew closer to his impatient jaws, the Hobbits felt the heartbeats quicken in anticipation. The great neck arched into kind of a hairpin curve with his terrible head twisted so low that it could rest on his own belly. He could see the horror on the elves' faces as they realized that the enchantment would force them to walk down the very throat of the dragon!

As he moved his head into position, he smugly continued his tale of the gruesome fate of the Valar, evidently well pleased with himself for being so clever as to have so closely recreated the identical fate for his equally doomed audience. With his head lifted just high enough above his belly so that he could speak, Smaug now ended his long tale with the final words which he enunciated with great relish, "One after another, the Valar stepped from the platform and into my open jaws." He paused, and then with less drama in his voice added, "In retrospect, I suppose that I may have been foolhardy to swallow alive such powerful users of magic without precautions, but I seemed to be taken up in the ritual much like them. Fortunately, the incantation must have nullified their abilities, or sapped from them the will to fight. But then again it takes a good deal of concentration to form and wield magical energies, and this would be exceedingly difficult to do when are being eaten alive, I would imagine. In any event, as each of them succumbed to my stomach, a new wave of euphoria delighted my senses, as I absorbed the souls of such ancient and powerful elder elves. All of their knowledge, memories and spiritual energy became my own, as surely as their dissolving flesh and bone would soon be as well. I expect much of the same elation from the souls of the great ones among you who about to join me now. So on that note, I must bid you all a fond farewell, but a heartfelt _welcome_ besides, as you are now about to fulfill the one true destiny that it seems your race was created for, hmm?"

But he received no response; for the words of _The Summoning _had left them bereft of all senses save for their inexplicable need to feed themselves to the beast, their master, their Living God. Then Smaug's great jaws gaped impossibly wide upon ending the sentence. The slick, grey-mottled pink tongue spilled out over the front bottom teeth and the very tip mockingly wiggled like the finger of a harlot beckoning men to enter her private chamber. Gobbets of saliva dripped from the ivory fangs in anticipation of the coming feast. Thicker, stickier strands of the stuff stretched between teeth, above and below, like stalactites and stalagmites in a spider infested cavern, which would likely have invoked memories of Shelob's lair, if Frodo could have seen the sight. More of the gelatinous webbing crisscrossed the dark, eagerly pulsing chasm of a throat, though the slimy cords would be no hindrance to the coming prey, and would in fact, cling to their bodies, making them all the easier to slide down the long neck to their ultimate destruction. Elrond was first, for Smaug's living bridge of a tail, was closest to where he stood in the boat when the words of _The Summoning _began. With his jaws so widely distended, the fire drake lost view of the coming prey, though he needed no eyes for what would come next, for untold numbers of elves before these had likewise been inexorably drawn into the expectant gullet by the words he had incanted.

With all his conscious thought, Elrond tried to stay his errant body from its march to self destruction, but he could not, nor could any elf there, he realized with both dread and acceptance, if even the great Valar had fell under the dragon's spell. One by one, the Elf Lord's bare feet stepped carefully into the greedy jaws, avoiding the ring of dagger-like teeth, and trying to find footing between the reptile's tooth-studded gums while the thick, pinkish gray tongue quivered in anticipation between his legs. As capacious as the yawning maw was, Elrond still had to crouch down to fully accommodate his large frame, and prepared to dive headlong into the dark, malodorous abyss that gaped before him. In the contorted pose, a guttural belch errantly erupted from the dragon's depths, and the hot, acrid stench of the foulest vomit assailed the Elf Lord's nostrils, and forced tears to well in his burning eyes. Despite the strange enchantment, his own strong will fought desperately to overcome the dragon's as he paused there on the brink of doom.

Smaug remembered then that Elrond was only half-elvish and The Summoning enchantment might have less effect on him. Impatient for the coming repast, the sparring of minds was decided an instant later when his long, prehensile tongue, like some hideous giant worm, snaked slowly up Elrond's back, and with a sudden, powerful jerk, thrust him down and headlong into the steamy black passage before him. The jaws gingerly closed together, and the fearsome head lifted off the belly only a bit, as the dragon gulped, eliciting a grotesque squelching noise as wet, cloying flesh and muscle forced the prey into the tight passage.

Elrond expected a much longer journey through the wyrm's serpentine neck and vast body, but slipped and slid only a short distance before he slowed to a halt. Arms spread in front of him as if taking a dive, he could feel the passage ahead abruptly bent almost straight upwards, and the wyrm's throat muscles could not push him further along to more perilous places.

Smaug was oblivious to the fact he had obstructed his own throat by contorting his neck. After the first gulp his body automatically did the rest to process his food, and at the moment he was concentrating on swallowing each elf, one by one as they walked into his mouth. With his jaws momentarily closed, Smaug could again take in the delightfully bizarre tableau of a half-score of stark naked elves and an equally naked, bony, white-bearded wizard clambering to their doom up his upturned tail and lower abdomen. Galadriel was approximately in the middle of the procession, and being the smallest of the group, could not fully step over the profane obstacle that loomed before her at the place where the dragon's tail joined its body. In her ill-fated attempt, her lead foot could not find purchase on the slippery, dreck stained, puckered folds, and it plunged thigh deep into the foul depths of the quivering orifice. The intrusion elicited rude sounds and unpleasant odors too, as a froth of oily, tea-colored bubbles roiled up around the trapped limb, which had been hopelessly engulfed.

Smaug was elated by this unexpected predicament that had now befallen one of the most despised of his vanquished foes, and clenched certain muscles there to hold fast the prim Elf-Maid in that disgusting place. Despite her sobs of distress, the ensorcelled elves behind her could pay her no heed, and nearly trod over her in their blind obedience to the dragon's incantation. The beast lost view of the scene again, as he widely opened his jaws to accept the next elf in line, and again, and again, until all but Gandalf had trod over her and entered the fire-drake's steamy maw. Each time he closed his jaws to swallow, Smaug caught a fleeting glimpse of the Elf-Maid's struggles and with their shutting over the final elf before Galadriel, he spied Gandalf attempting to free her from the living morass.

Making eye contact with the dragon, Gandalf realized the folly wrought by his compassion. It was pointless too, for once free, she would be drawn into Smaug's jaws like all the rest, and now his attempt to fool the beast was naught. Still, he could not tolerate the humiliating state which the cruel wyrm had reduced this noble lady to, and was compelled to end it no matter the consequences. With a mighty pull, Galadriel was freed, her fair skin that had been submerged in that foul place now red and swollen from the heat and caustic fluids. Annoyed with her premature rescue by the deceiving old wizard, in retaliation, her release was punctuated by a thunderous blast of hot, flatulent air, so thick and vile that it might have proven fatal to the two so close if it had been delivered in a closed space, and not on the open sea. Even so, both of them were brought to their knees by the gagging stench, choking and gasping for air. Naked as they were, there was no cloth about in which they could filter the toxic miasma, so Galadriel clutched wads of her own silky hair, and Gandalf, his long white beard, to their mouths.

With the two now choking and incapacitated, Smaug deftly seized Gandalf in a forepaw, pressing his arms tightly against his body so his hands couldn't conjure magic with them. He contemplated the wizard's clever ruse, and the foolish, chivalrous act that undid him. The sly wyrm, of course, already had his suspicions that Gandalf was only pretending to be entranced by _The Summoning_, but now those doubts were completely confirmed. He believed that the old white beard had intended to strike him with his last reserves of magical energy in the most vulnerable possible place, a fire ball or bolt of electricity, to his brain while his mouth gaped open, or even allow himself to be swallowed, only to strike directly at his beating heart as the wizard passed so close to it as he progressed down the monster's gullet. But Smaug had destroyed other mages and wizards in his long, long life, and was confident that his own powerful aura, enhanced all the more by the spiritual energy gained by the souls of so many consumed elves would protect him even if attacked from the inside, where his thick, hard scales could not shield him. But the energies he projected to incapacitate them all earlier in the boat would be difficult to wield if the dangerous magic users among them were alive and capable of doing damage inside his own body. He would need to render the wizard harmless, but still alive, if he were to consume his valuable soul. |However, he was not the foolish and overconfident beast that he had made himself out to be for the benefit of Bilbo Baggins in the ruse of his fictitious death, and had planned all along to incapacitate the wizard before consuming him as he would any magic user not positively ensorcelled by _The Summoning_.

As the air cleared, and the two began to recover, Smaug was delighted to see that the glassiness in the Elf Maid's eyes was gone. The traumatic, near death experience had apparently broken _The Summoning's _enchantment over her. Galadriel's fate then, as well as the wizard's would be just that much more fulfilling now that he knew they had all of their senses intact to experience every horror of being eaten and digested alive. But the Elf-Maiden was also a powerful magic user, and would have to be rendered harmless too, now that the effects of _The Summoning _incantation had been nullified. More gently than he did Gandalf, the dragon seized the still-coughing Galadriel in his other front paw, pinning her arms down to prevent her use of magic, or throwing the precious ring she wore into the sea. Raising his head some so he could effect a little bow with it, he mocked an apology for the uncouth gaseous discharge, saying, "Do pardon me for that rather embarrassing, um, _eruption_, Milady, though in all truth, it was precipitated by your own rather perverse violation of my body, hmm?. (This was a lie of course, but served well to vex her all the more.) "It would seem that those three fat ponies I had for dinner last night must have given me a spot of indigestion with their tough, hairy hides, thick bones and hard hooves. I fear that my stomach has gone soft from a steady diet of little but tender elves during these many decades I have taken up residence in Valinor. I must admit though, that your rather obscene attempt to rape me with your leg felt, well, rather pleasant, and so expertly ministered to suggest that you may have had some long experience in, um _pleasuring_ dragons in such an intimate manner, hmm? Is it possible you might have, um, serviced my own sire and your creator, Ancalagon, with your, um, special talents? Could this even be, perhaps, how you achieved such great status within the elvish hierarchy, hmm?"

Galadriel's face reddened with rage over the dragon's crass insinuations. But she was now so flustered by the degradations both physical and mental that the dragon had heaped upon her that she was at a loss for words. Her only desire was to kill the monster that held her in its power, but knew she could do nothing to harm it. Before she could muster words, the dragon spoke to her again, saying, "Perhaps it would be a mistake to simply eat someone possessed with such special talents despite their terrible crimes that deserve such a fate. Maybe I will grant you your wish to journey to the Undying Lands after all, where you can live an eternity pleasuring me daily in the same fashion while I repose in my steaming bath, digesting the last dregs of your fallen race until you are the only one that remains."

With the Elf Maid left wailing in despair, Smaug turned to address Gandalf, whose face was red with rage over the dragon's coarse and cruel admonishments directed against the noble elvish lady. "So what was it then - perhaps a conjured fireball to penetrate my palette and brain as my jaws gaped wide to consume you? Or since you had no weapons, did you mean to rip out my very heart as you slipped down my throat like a hero in some fanciful children's fairy story? I am both surprised and disappointed Old Wizard that you would invite the certain death of your hobbit friends, and the Mearas stallion, too, if you had succeeded in killing me in this wide, wide sea, too far to be rescued by even your eagle friends. At least your harebrained scheme induced you to strip yourself naked to save me the trouble of disrobing you myself. Woolen robes are as indigestible as fur and tend to clog up my internal plumbing".

In defiance, Gandalf replied, "If I had been able to kill you, I suspect your bloated carcass would have floated us back to the coast, like any dead whale's, you despicable old lizard. I had no choice but attempt to make an end to you, even if those left closest to me still alive might perish in the process. And besides, why would I trust the word of such a cruel and craven beast that you would even spare them? If there are any honorable dragons in the world you sully their good name. You are nothing but a loathsome, overstuffed maggot. Truly you are more _worm_ than _wyrm_!" the White Wizard defiantly spat, carefully enunciating the syllables, so Smaug would comprehend the insulting pun.

Gandalf gambled that his insults would goad the enraged beast into killing him instantly, so his soul at least, could escape before it could be trapped and absorbed by the fire drake. In spirit form he might yet carry on the fight, just as the ghosts of the _Dead Men of Dunharrow_, _The__Oathbreakers_, who terrorized Sauron's minions when summoned by Aragon.

Smaug chafed at the words and his first thought was to simply scorch Gandalf a bit with a well-placed blast of dragon fire, singing off his snowy beard and hair, and browning his skin so that he would look like an Easterling palace eunuch – but not enough heat to kill him outright, and be deprived of the obstinate wizard's valuable soul. "Under other circumstances I would disdain from eating something so dried up, thin and bony as you, old wizard", he said, "but perhaps a light roasting will make you a bit more palatable." With that, Smaug inhaled only slightly, and pursed his scaly lips to direct a thin stream of flame on the wizard grasped in his claws.

But to his surprise, nothing happened. Smaug in both his showmanship and gluttony had completely blocked his esophagus with the struggling bodies of his recent victims, denying him the volatile gases required to make his fire. All the while Smaug conversed with Gandalf and Galadriel, his head remain low on his belly, and the other swallowed elves accumulated at the same place as Elrond, creating a conspicuous bulge.

Contrary to popular belief, dragons do not actually create fire in their bellies with some arcane and inexplicable magic. Rather, they produce it by combining the natural elements around them through a form of telekinesis, just as _apeling _sorcerers and wizards do, only in far more copious and deadly, dragon-sized amounts. Whereas an adept wizard can only produce so much as a small fire ball from hydrogen in the air around them, dragons draw on a far larger more concentrated form, gleaned from the bone-dissolving hydrochloric acid in their stomachs. While a mage can only throw the fire ball, the huge lungs of an adult dragon can produce a continuous stream, far hotter and at much greater range. But at the moment, the dragon's gluttony combined with his contorted neck had rendered his fire making abilities temporarily moot.

Gandalf saw the look of surprise in the golden eyes and the bulge of trapped elves in his neck and laughed long and hard at the dragon's unexpected predicament. And while he laughed he ridiculed the beast again, saying, "What a sorry excuse you are to be a fire drake that cannot even bring forth fire at will, oh foul, fat, stupid, stinking pig of dragon you are, oh Smaug the Magnificent Malignant Maggot."

In his rage, Smaug squeezed his mighty paw until he heard ribs crack. During this first sacking of Erebor, Smaug had squeezed dozens of armor-shod dwarves so tightly that their ruined organs and lifeblood squirted upward from his clenched fists with such force that they created macabre frescoes of gore on many of the walls and ceilings of that place. He could as easily have burst the wizard asunder in like manner, but it was not to be, for as angry as he was, Smaug in his inscrutable wisdom, readily divined the wizard's suicidal intent and relented, opening the wicked talons and forcing Gandalf to instinctively suck air into his crushed body. Regaining his composure he coolly said, "I recall some sage advice contained in The Great Red Book last night. I believe they were the words of your burglar, Mr. Bilbo Baggins himself if I am not mistaken. It was something to the effect that one should never laugh at a live dragon; wise words indeed, eh old wizard?"

But the cunning Drake was still too cautious to swallow a live wizard who was clearly not affected by The Summoning incantation intended for elves. While he had demonstrated his ability to immobilize all of those in the small boat, it was because he could actually see them and could more easily concentrate his energies upon them. But for those he could not see, in the depths of his own body, there was no guarantee he could retain that hold.

Lesser dragons would not risk it, and simply immolate magic users to ash and charred bones with their fire, and thereby never absorb their knowledge and energies. But there was a tried and true method Smaug well knew to render powerful wizards and mages harmless before consuming them alive, and thus obtain their knowledge and powers as well as their very flesh. Among the apeling races, the use of the hands, or better, a staff in those hands, was instrumental in wielding offensive magic and without them a wizard was no more than a crippled, common man. Smaug brought both of his forepaws with their trapped prisoners close together. Keeping one digit snugly around Galadriel, he set the other three upon Gandalf, partially opening the paw that held him. Like some cruel child who plucks the wings off a captured insect, Smaug took each of Gandalf's forearms between his scythe-like claws and broke them in twain, one after the other, as effortlessly as a man might snap a twig or jack straw. Without the use of his hands to wield magic, he had effectively rendered the once mighty White Wizard into naught but helpless, harmless dragon fodder.

Like a piece of unwanted offal, Smaug then tossed Gandalf's naked, broken, body atop the same stained and puckered orifice that had so recently entrapped Galadriel. Then with both paws free, he methodically snapped the wrists of the screaming Elf-Maid and dropped her beside the wizard. Still angry, a dexterous talon firmly pressed Gandalf's head deep into the slimy pink folds, but fished it out again before he suffocated. Two more times he repeated the unseemly act, and then relented. But it was not in compassion that he did so, but for concern that his foe would succumb before he could be devoured alive. Then he hooked an upturned claw under Gandalf's chin, to prop his head up so that he might look him in the eye, saying, "I have a small confession to make, Old Wizard. The surviving Rings of Power are not as useless as you thought, not that they can help you now. I have learned much from the souls of the Valar I consumed, including every secret about the rings. Though their power faded with the destruction of the One Ring, as you well know, not only can they be restored, but the power is amplified tremendously if several are worn together. If you had known this you would have likely thrown them into the sea, and they may have been lost forever, but there is nothing you can do now. Soon I will have all three intended for the elves, plus those of men and dwarves you see about my neck. With the additional powers they will afford me, I will truly become the _One True God _of the men I leave alive to worship me when the lands known as Middle Earth, its great monuments and cities and its long lost elves, dwarves, orcs and wizards, are naught but the stuff of children's fairy stories. All of the death and destruction that I have dealt already, and will continue to deal is on your bloody hands, Old Wizard, and no power on earth can avert it now. There is an old saying, of elvish origin if I am not mistaken, that you would have done well to have heeded - _It__is always best to let sleeping dragons lie_."

Satisfied for the moment, Smaug turned his attention again to Galadriel. The great snout descended upon her, twin nostrils steaming profusely, like two giant, overheated tea kettles. With clenched teeth, scale-shod lips gingerly grasped, and turned the terrified Elf Maid over to face him. The mouth opened not yet to devour, but to speak again, saying in a mock-apologetic tone, "It is with some regret that I have decided to change my mind. While keeping you alive for all eternity to pleasure my backside certainly has its merits, as you have amply demonstrated this day, I have much work to do in the coming months to reshape Middle Earth more to my liking. While I am busy attending to important matters an opportunity might present itself for you to escape or worse, take your own life, and thereby deprive me of what I know will be a wonderfully exquisite soul, so full of ancient knowledge and fascinating memories. No, I think I will take your soul today, along with all the rest. You may think me selfish, but it is a dragon's nature to covet and possess things of great worth, and I am sure your soul will provide me with both valuable knowledge, and perhaps even great amusement as well, for your darkest and most intimate secrets will also be laid bare to me. Pity though that there will be no one left of your race to expose what shameful and perverse things I am certain to discover, hmm? But fear not, for I am sure we will find a suitable place in the Great Red Book of the hobbits to reveal the decadence of even the highest echelons of the unnatural elvish race. You would truly be astonished to know how degenerate your so-called gods that you call the Valar were, as I have learned from their sordid souls. But in compensation, I will try to make your last moments as pleasurable as possible for the shameless slut that you are."

In the next instant Smaug's thick, mottled tongue struck out from its toothy lair like an enraged python, forcing its writhing, probing, conical tip dreadfully close to the most intimate of the Elf-Maid's places. The shrillest, most ear-piercing of screams, nor the most desperate clenching of legs could do nothing to stay the powerful, worm-like appendage from its intended course, but then he abruptly stopped just short of the despicable deed, for he dared not risk killing her now, as sometimes happened with the maiden offerings of Dale when his powerful tongue caused some mortal internal injury. The mere terror he had caused her, and the anguish he saw on the face of the helpless Gandalf was satisfaction enough.

Galadriel's light frame was slid along the smooth belly scutes a fair distance by the onslaught, until held fast when it was pushed against Gandalf's prostrate form. Her arms were useless now, with hands broken at their wrists flopping uselessly as she instinctively brought them up to push away the rampant tongue. Legs that could do nothing to halt the mock tongue raping now kicked in desperation as they felt the scaly lips endeavor to engulf them. But her misguided efforts only served to place those wildly flailing limbs into the very place the dragon intended, and so trapped, the jaws gently descended to hold her fast, but not so hard as to rend them. His discerning palate much preferred his elf meat untainted by the overpowering, coppery flavor of blood.

With his prey firmly in place, the great, scaly head began to rise, slower and more sluggishly than even Smaug himself had anticipated, due to the weighty mass of elves that had accumulated in the front part of his contorted neck. But as his head rose and the neck finally began to straighten, gravity now helped the huge, wobbly bulge to slowly descend down the slippery gullet. As he rose, Smaug turned a great golden orb to Gandalf, and got his attention with a sharp poke of a talon against his broken ribs. When their eyes met, and the cruel wyrm was assured that the wizard saw Galadriel trapped in his jaws, his scaly lips formed in what was a triumphant grin, despite the mouthful of maiden, and gave him a sly wink with a saucer-sized, glittering eye.

Up, up, and up Galadriel rose, high into the air as Smaug struggled to raise his heavy, elf-stuffed neck arrow straight. Cowering in fear all this time under the dragon's arched neck, and their view of his feeding ritual thankfully obscured by first, his huge head, and then the ever swelling bulge of accumulating elves, the two hobbits were unaware of what exactly had transpired since Smaug had invoked the words of _The Summoning_. Though despite the horror, Frodo was ever the diligent chronicler of Middle Earth history, and he strained to hear every word, so it might later be written down for posterity's sake, hopefully even amending the Great Red Book, if the dragon returned it to him.

Now suddenly bathed in bright sunlight as the dragon's neck straightened, and startled by Galadriel's piercing screams, Frodo and Bilbo were once again able to survey their surroundings. To their dismay, the boat which they had last seen full of elves was now empty and forlorn, and a naked, battered Gandalf lay still as death on the dragon's lower belly. They looked up to see who could only be Galadriel, her long, white-gold hair fluttering in the wind, screaming and struggling in Smaug's clenched jaws. The enormous bulge behind his head, which they had watch grow with each gulp until soft, pink, baby-like skin stretched and protruded between hard, red-gold scutes, was now slowing descending down the dragon's long neck. Just as Galadriel had done when exposed to the deadly, gaseous discharge, in their terrified state, the ingested elves had overcome the hypnotic effect of _The Summoning _spell, and they vainly sought to escape their dark and dreadful prison, and all the more so when they began to move closer to their doom. The desperate struggles of those trapped inside, combined with the rippling undulations of the wyrm's throat muscles, caused the scales to shimmer and sparkle as sunlight glinted of their moving, glossy surfaces as the conspicuous bulge slowing descended down the long, straight neck. The great bolus seemed so unnaturally large that Frodo believed the gluttonous dragon had somehow swallowed poor Shadowfax whole as well, but was reassured to see him still gripped in the talons of one of the beast's hind feet, bobbing in the waves and still very much alive. New panic gripped the trapped elves have they felt themselves sliding downwards. Most had regained their senses and realized with dread what lay terror lay in the depths below them. Elrond exhorted them, "Friends, do not despair! Grip those around you as tightly as you can and do not let go. If we can keep our group together, the dragon may not be able to swallow us, for there is a strong chain of Mithril at the base of his throat. If we can stay together he will have to disgorge us and we may be able to fight him!"

Much to Smaug's surprise, when the entangled mass of elves and wizard finally reached the base of his neck, it abruptly stopped there, depriving his eager belly of his much anticipated feast. In times past, the dragon had swallowed whole and alive the largest of men, orcs, and even bears with never a difficulty. Only the night before, three ponies of moderate size, those which he had purloined from the hobbit friends of Frodo, smoothly went whinnying and kicking down his capacious gullet to their doom without his having to remove the strong mithril neck chain that that held his precious Rings of Power. . He did not eat them alive to be unnecessarily cruel, but even lesser creatures than _apelings_ had something of a soul, and a fair amount of invigorating spiritual energy besides, that is not to be had when supping on a dead carcass. In this case though, there was an additional more devious reason for eating the still living ponies, for once they perished in his belly, and their souls assimilated, he could see through their simple equine memories the route they took from Bilbo's hometown of Hobbiton to the Grey Banks. For the Shire was a reasonably large place, and should the Hobbits he intended to capture the following day prove to be uncooperative (or accidently perish), he could find his way there without the need of dire threats or torture. Hobbiton was to be his next destination, for a chest of his stolen treasure was probably there, not to mention his desire to humiliate a certain Bilbo Baggins before his own Hobbit countrymen for ridiculing him in the Red Book.

But this was a most curious circumstance indeed, for in his long, long life, untold thousands of men, dwarves, and elves had made the same one way trip through that long slippery tube with nary a hitch until now. In retrospect he realized that it was his theatrics of contorting his neck into a hairpin loop, so that the elves could be induced by The Summoning incantation, to walk into his throat as they had done in Valinor that had caused this predicament.

The elves in question had thus far been spared the horrors of Smaug's caustic belly for in their frantic struggles in that confining, gripping gullet, their limbs had become hopelessly entangled, and their united mass would not pass through the narrow confines created at the base of his neck by the strong Mithril chain on which his stolen Rings of Power were attached for safekeeping, (much as Frodo had carried _The_ _One Ring_ when it was not in use). The chain was loose enough to admit even a struggling pony, as demonstrated three times only the night previous, but Smaug had never foreseen the circumstance of a great ball of entangled elves accumulating due to his contorted neck and then in his gluttony, swallowing them all at once, instead of disgorging the mass and then taking them one at a time. Another thing in his preys' favor was that some could actually see the yawning pit below them, and this terror fortified their efforts to keep it straddled. This too was a rare thing indeed, for normally the trip down a dragon's throat is done in inky black and confusing darkness. But on this day, the doomed elves were bathed in an eerie red light, for their combined bulk had caused the dragon's neck to greatly distend, and like the multiple, tiny panes of translucent mica in a wood elf's arboreal abode, the stretched skin normally hidden by dense, hard scales, was now bathed in bright sunlight. The solar rays shining through the usually unseen pink flesh filled with blood-gorged veins and capillaries provided rare light in that horrible place, albeit of a hellish red hue sordidly appropriate under the circumstances. It seemed the only injury which the powerful band of a wizard, elf mages and stalwart sailors could inflict on their devourer might be a mild case of sunburn on the vulnerable skin that normally never saw the light of day, but now the bulge of their bodies was exposing to the midday Sun.

Smaug thought their strange predicament rather amusing, imagining the terror they must be experiencing as they desperately struggled to avoid slipping further the pulsing gullet that endeavored to pull them all deeper into his vast body – to a place they knew would be far more terrible. He did not want to deprive Galadriel or Gandalf of sharing this group experience, and accordingly, loosed his grip on the Elf-maid, who was near-exhaustion from her fruitless screams and struggles. Releasing a little jaw pressure, Galadriel slipped deeper between the opening jaws and when fully ensconced they closed, and an ominous, deliberate gulp, sent her speedily down the now almost vertical, slick throat to join the struggling mass below.

Turning his attention to Gandalf, the great head snaked down like a heron on a hapless frog. Jaws cracked open and gingerly scooped up both feet to the ankles. Sharp front teeth testily bit into flesh, coaxing a reassuring gasp of pain that the hated foe still lived, though soon enough, both his flesh and very soul would belong to him. With a crisp, whip-like flip of his snout, the wizard was hurled high into the air, to the wide-eyed astonishment of Frodo and Bilbo. Tumbling as it descended, the lank, pale, bony body with trailing white hair and beard, might have seemed comical under different circumstances, but to the two hobbits it was a terrify scene that would forever haunt their memories. With a precision that came from performing this sordid feat far too many times before, Smaug aligned his head perfectly below the falling mage, who dropped headlong into the dragon's practiced jaws. They snapped shut with a deafening clap causing the hobbits to shudder. A deep, guttural gulping sound followed, and from their vantage point just below Smaug's hoary head, they glumly watched as a dear friend, and the last hope for Middle Earth be reduced to a, slight bulge that traveled smoothly down the dragon's scaly neck, vanishing altogether as it joined the greater bulge of struggling elves held fast by the taut mithril chain. Despite the horror of it all, Smaug's predicament reminded Bilbo of the similar shaped, long necked aquatic birds he had seen on the wharves and boats of Lake Town used by the men there to catch fish. Their feet were tethered to lines to prevent escape, and any large fish they swallowed would be trapped in their throat by a metal ring at the base of their neck, much like the elves held in the dragon's neck.

Each of the gulps that brought the last two victims to that place sent waves of powerful, rippling throat muscles along with their prey. Still, no one in that place terrible place recognized the great personages that had just joined them, for the certain, horrific death that loomed just below them had reduced the usually stoic elves into near-animals driven by little more than the instinct to survive. Ironically, it was the wave of contractions that heralded Galadriel's arrival that dislodged Elrond from the entangled mass, and sent him into the dark void below. He was the first to be consumed after Smaug contorted his neck to belly level, and inadvertently blocked his throat. At the bottom of the mass, exhausted, trod upon by those above and thoroughly drenched in slippery spittle and mucous, the violent, peristaltic contraction caused the Elf-Lord to lose his grip and he slipped legs first into the yawning black abyss. It spontaneously closed behind him, and a procession of muscular rings, one after another clenched tight around him, pushing him deeper into the dragon's chest cavity.

Despite the children's stories to the contrary, even if he had been equipped with a sharp sword or dagger, it would have done him no good. The pressure on all sides was terrific, with his arms pressed close to his body, as he was tightly compressed into a rib cage filled with over a ton of heaving lungs and a powerful beating heart as large as an ale barrel of the likes Bilbo and the Dwarves had hidden in. Indeed, the powerful muscular contractions that pushed him along would have driven any blade into his own guts, and not bother the tough, gristly esophagus in the least, which easily coped with the sharp, thrashing horns of stags, or the claws of bears when dragons supped on more natural prey . While the beating heart had been heard in the depths below the trapped elves, as he slipped deeper the sound increased in intensity, and now thundered in Elrond's ears. As his own chest passed by the huge, powerful, pulsing knot of valves and muscle, its rhythmic pumping in those tight confines forced the last air out of his lungs. Knowing what horrors lay ahead, he prayed for death to take him then and there, but was not so lucky, for in a few more seconds of travel through long, tight tube, he was shunted with some force through an unclenching knot of puckered muscle into a different, slightly less confining space which he knew could only be the very belly of the beast.. He splashed into hot, greasy fluid, though not deep enough to drown in. With his face no longer swathed in the cloying, suffocating throat, he instinctively opened his eyes and sucked in what his body would take as air, though it was unlike any air he had ever inhaled. Had Frodo been in that place, it would have reminded him somewhat of the heat and fumes of Mount Doom. It was more of a fog than it was air, a hot, thick, acid-laced miasma that seared his mouth, nostrils, lungs and eyes. And there was an unbelievable stench, not of decaying flesh as some might think, for no flesh could survived long enough in that caustic, bone-dissolving organic processor to ever decay. It was more a stench like vomit, but vomit in its most potent, undiluted form imaginable. He clenched his eyes shut to shield them from the burning, though keeping them open would have served no purpose in the utter and complete darkness. The pressure of the compressed, noxious air bore down on his eardrums, akin to the experienced when he sometimes dived into the deep cool pool below the main bridge of Rivendell in far better times, and where he dreamed of now, in the stifling heat and noxious atmosphere that was Smaug's stomach.

It was difficult to even raise up on his hands and knees to keep from drowning in the shallow pool of viscous fluid, for every surface was coated in impossibly slippery mucous. Given the fire drake's enormous size, his stomach seemed deceptively small, for in its current, normal state, little more than the length, height and breath of two large ale barrels placed end to end. Though only the night previous, the now wrinkled and puckered folds had easily stretched to accommodate three, struggling ponies, and even that bulk would be considered a rather light supper by Smaug's estimation, compared to some of his more prodigious meals. Of those ponies, a scant night's work in that industrious belly had by now left very little of them in that place, save for the thick masses of mane and tail hair, fur, hooves, and some of the larger bones. Even these had mostly softened into gristle, the dragon's powerful bile having leeched out the calcium that kept them rigid and strong. In a few more hours most of those last bones would be completely dissolved, and drained away into the ominously gurgling guts that were now efficiently processing well over a ton of liquefied pony flesh, fat and organs.

A terrible foreboding of dread and despair fell over Elrond in his pitch dark, living tomb. He could sense the past presence of innumerable sentient beings, dwarves, elves and men, who had suffered terrible death for centuries on end in this same small space. In a little less than the past century, virtually his entire race had perished horribly here, just as he knew he would. And more than mere death it was, for not content with their flesh alone, the monster consumed their very souls as well, extinguishing all traces they had ever existed, save for the great heaps of the vilest, stinking dung imaginable. Too large to naturally decompose, the slime that covered these deposits dried and hardened like a weatherproof varnish, and the droppings remained intact for decades, reminding one in size, color and durability of the petrified trunks of trees that can be seen in the desert wastes of the Southlands. If Smaug consumed every elf and razed every elvish building and edifice as he promised, the only evidence to mark that his once proud race had ever existed, save for their stolen treasures, would be nothing more than those great piles of desiccated dragon dung, which in time, would eventually vanish as well.

Amidst the din of digestive noises, and the ever-pounding heart, Elrond heard the voice and gasps of a fellow elf, who could only be the hapless sailor Smaug had snatched up and swallowed just minutes before he invoked the words of _The Summoning._ Because the dragon was reposing on his back, he had some freedom of movement, a rare thing for under normal circumstances, the beast's massive liver and other viscera normally bore down on the stomach making it as confining as the tight throat he had just negotiated. There was also an unusually large volume of swallowed air in that place, which kept the stomach more distended than normal, if you could call that foul atmosphere air. For while the parade of ensorcelled elves were detained by the steep upward incline of his now contorted throat, much of the air they were swallowed with still reached the stomach and remained trapped there by powerful valves both fore and aft. Belching did no good for his throat was blocked by the mass of elves. If he had been a mammal he might have choked to death, but like birds and the lesser reptiles, his tough, gristly, windpipe of cartilage opened at the base of his tongue. Like a serpent, it allowed him to swallow large prey without the danger of suffocating.

Elrond groped towards the sound when the chamber around him lurched and compressed violently, turning him topsy-turvy. He was completely immersed again in the shallow pool of foul fluids, and with immense force; his body was roughly grated against the two sailors, wads of fur, and the bones and hooves of the ponies. Some of the disarticulated pony jaws and skulls were held tight in the folds of the stomach, and their acid resistant teeth raked his back, breaking his skin. Stomach secretions seeped into the open abrasions and it felt as if salt had been poured in his wounds. The muscular, kneading stomach rubbed off the protective slime and mucous that had covered his body, exposing his naked skin to the caustic bile which only his eyes and mouth had previously felt. He began to feel a tingling sensation in places where the throat slime had rubbed off. In the more sensitive areas, like his groin, anus, armpits and lips, the tingling quickly progressed to an uncomfortable burning sensation that he dreaded would only intensify. Though it already seemed like an hour of suffering, he had been in that place barely half a minute, having just missed the previous quake-like convulsion of his confining organic prison. With the same regularity of Smaug's beating heart, albeit slower, these powerful contractions were a repeating bodily function, that would only cease when the muscular organ's contents had been reduced to a liquid sludge of chyme, and shunted out into his gurgling guts. Like the ponies before them, the efficient, hard-working stomach would mercilessly render Elrond and all the rest he had consumed that day into liquid and particles small enough to be siphoned through an orifice little wider than a ale stein, and into the winding mass of bowels behind it, where most of what were once living beings would essentially be turned into more dragon.

When the great upheaval ceased, everything in the chamber had changed and Elrond felt just in front of him now, what he took to be the gasping elf he had heard before, but now lying face down in the shallow pool of sludge. He used both hands to lift the head out of the muck, grasping it firmly due to how slippery everything was, and to his horror, the entire face and scalp sloughed off from the skull like a wet riding glove might be wrest from a hand. He flung the horrid, unseen thing away, realizing this could only be the remains of the first sailor Smaug had eaten, the one flung into the sea from the mast, and who had been stewing away in that hot churning cauldron for well over an hour by now. Undaunted by the horror, he groped about in the total darkness to find the other, still living man, and grasped another living thing, but it was not the sailor. Thick and round as a large sausage, it writhed and wrapped around his arm as he grasped it. He shook it off in horror, and wondered when Smaug could have eaten a large snake that could still live in that toxic environment. Then he realized it must be some king of dragon-sized parasitic worm, and prayed he would not encounter it, or others of its kind again.

Elrond traversed the relatively small area of his organic prison, fumbling among scattered, acid-softened pony bones, the digesting remains of the first sailor, masses of hair and fur, and more of the disgusting worms without finding a trace of him. He listened for the gasping breath again, straining to hear anything besides the din of the dragon's thrumming heart to his front, or noisy guts behind. In the blackness of the place, he thought he must have missed a spot, when a slimy hand brushed against his cheek, giving him another start. He felt for the body connected to it and found it not on the bottom, but somehow attached on the stomach's side, much as a prisoner festooned on a dungeon wall, and seemingly defying gravity. He tried to bring his ear to the fellow elf's mouth to detect further breathing, but could not reach it, unable to get no higher than upon his knees on the impossibly slick and undulating surface. He tried to pull the body down, feeling behind it to understand how it was attached there. Groping behind it, he found much of a dislocated arm firmly gripped by a wrinkly stomach fold, much like the pony skull, the teeth of which had raked open his back during the first convulsion. He pulled and pried, but the deceptive fold of slime covered tissue, so soft and spongy at times, held the arm in a tight embrace. By this time another half-minute had elapsed, and the stomach began another powerful, crushing contraction. Beginning from the direction of the pounding heart, it bore down with great pressure on Elrond and the corpse he held, toppling him down on his back into the sludge and then towards the more confining back end of that place, where a bit of the most liquefied sludge siphoned through a small sucking drain of sorts, into the deeper depths of the dragon. Elrond's feet were taken up in the current of hot gruel that poured into the open hole, though they were too large to be admitted now. Only when rendered into the same consistency of sludge that oozed around his toes would the remains of Elrond and the rest pass through that narrow defile, and continue their journey through the vast reptile.

Smaug was oblivious to the life and death struggles currently going on in his belly. Unlike the kicking ponies of the previous evening's repast, the struggles of elves, and members of the other _apeling _races that frequently found themselves ensconced in that awful place were so proportionately weak that their desperate kicking and clawing were too insignificant to even be noticed. At the moment he was greatly amused by something of a dilemma. While he could simply squeeze his neck with a powerful paw, (much as an apeling might milk a cow), and force them through the relatively narrow defile which the chain had created, many of their number might be crushed and prematurely slain before they could fully experience the terrors that his belly had in store for them. _This simply wouldn't do_, he mused, and his desire for revenge would be incomplete if they did not experience the last full measure of his gastric chamber of horrors. Instead, he gently poked the lump with a single talon, which elicited some shouts and cries, but did not cause it to budge. He was about to make a second attempt, this time a slight pinch with a talon from each side, when a wave of euphoria swept over him for a second time that day. He closed his eyes and rested both forepaws on his belly as he savored the burst of spiritual energy and new and intriguing memories as he absorbed the soul of the second sailor he consumed that morning - the elf responsible for the last dying gasps which Elrond had heard.

In his slightly addled, trance-like condition, Smaug's great paws might have accidentally crushed the two hobbits if they had not been so wary and light of foot. They managed to scurry out of the way in time, retreating back up his chest, uncomfortably close to the great bulge of doomed prisoners at the base of the dragon's neck. This was the second time that day they observed Smaug fall into the trance-like state, and vaguely understood its cause. While it seemed reasonably clear by now that the dragon had no intention of eating them too, he might accidentally harm them when he fell into an altered state each time he consumed a victim's soul. With so many more that would die in his belly this day, they would have to be alert.

As he recovered, the dragon briefly skimmed the last memories of the soul he had just consumed, including a craving for drink during the sailor's last living minutes in that stifling hot chamber where acid laced air had seared his tongue and parched his throat. _Yesss, a good long drink should do nicely, _Smaug thought with diabolical glee, as he scanned the waves for the bobbing barrel he had briefly noted before and intended to investigate anyway. For Smaug, like most dragons who had made a livelihood of plundering the civilized races, invariably acquire a taste for their alcoholic beverages both fermented and distilled. That barrel, in fact was nary the only thing that did not go down with the ship save for the lifeboat and Mearas stallion. From the sailor's soul he knew exactly what the barrel contained, and it was a drink Smaug had learned to love over the many years he had preyed on elvish shipping - the potent honey-mead relished by the sailors of that race. If the barrel had been completely full it would have sunk like a stone along with the ship, but just enough had been drunk from it to keep it barely floating. His tail swished a few strokes to bring the barrel into reach and he plucked it from the sea. It fit comfortably in his enormous paw, much as members of the apeling races might grasp a wine beaker. He briefly paused to admire the brazen spigot in the bung hole which was in the likeness of a dragon's neck and head, a common motif for such appliances, but he would not abide by the tiny flow that would spill from the mouth of the tiny effigy. With a crunch of splintering wood, he neatly stove in the top of the barrel with what would pass as a thumb claw, and passed the barrel down to the hobbits. "Take a good long drink now for you will not have another until we reach shore on the morrow."

Though thirsty, neither wished to go near the great, cruel paw that had nearly crushed the life from Gandalf just some minutes before. "N-no thank you, _Your Honor,"_ Bilbo stuttered. Frodo added, "I believe there are some provisions in the life boat should we need them, _Your Greatness_. I saw a bungle wrapped in oilcloth as well as some wineskins strapped in by the stern."

"Very good then, we shall tend to that later," Smaug replied as he raised the barrel like a wine goblet over his head in a mockery of apeling ceremony. "A toast then, to the dissolution of the despicable White Council, who callously plotted the death of this peaceful old dragon – but failed, and now reap their just rewards." He raised his tooth-filled snout to the sky, brought the cask up to his scaly, and said "Cheers," before dispatching it all down his gullet in one great gulp. The distinct sound of the flood of fluid sloshing down his throat reminded Frodo of happier times, finally united with his young hobbit friends, playing with the ingenious water-flushing toilets in the high citadel of Minas Tirith which Pippin repeatedly activated just to see and hear such a novelty unheard of back in The Shire

The many gallons of mead cascaded down upon Gandalf and the mass off struggling elves like a tidal wave. The high alcohol content of the drink caused many who were drenched by it to scream in pain as it burned eyes and any open abrasions on their skin. It was particularly severe for Gandalf and Galadriel, who through their struggles caused the sharp ends of their broken bones to protrude through their skin. With their ruined limbs they could do nothing to help the integrity of the living mass, and floated up a bit from the rest, who formed a living an effective plug that prevented most of the mead from draining off into the depths below. With the stomach sealed by a sphincter below them, there was little air trapped in the esophagus and the captives began to gasp for breath. Smaug was immune to their difficulties, for he took in air through the separate glottis and windpipe that opened just under the base of his tongue. The dragon skewed his long neck around so he could get a good view of the bulge formed by his desperate prey, bringing an ear close enough to hear their delightful gasping and screaming just behind the thin stretched skin and scales.

With their strength waning under the many gallons of mead pressing down upon them, their air supply exchanged for liquid, and the alcohol in the potent beverage burning their eyes, and every abrasion, the elves' heroic resistance began to waver. When the sailors realized what was cascading down upon them, many gulped down great quantities of the stuff, both praying for the respite, and choking from their excesses. This new distraction caused feet to slip from their precarious perches on the slippery flesh that covered the collarbone and Mithril chain that had kept them safe this long. Still not satisfied, and impatient to fill his eager stomach, Smaug dealt one firm nudge with his steamy snout against the wavering bulge. This last act was more than they could bear, and with cries of despair their resistance collapse. The two hobbits, and the wyrm watched the spectacle, the former two with horror and the latter with delight, as the ungainly bulge seemed to fall in on itself and vanish without a trace, as the entangled prey sloshed and tumbled downward into the broad chest along with the gallons of mead that had rested above them. The whoosh of rushing liquid, and the squelching and gurgling noises of the soaked, soft bodies that accompanied it, as the mass was pushed deeper into the dragon's organic plumbing, again reminded Frodo of the sound that emanated from the remarkable flush toilets in the Gondorian citadel. Only this time it was less like Pippin's idle testing to see and hear the swirling water move, and now more like the fuller, more congested noises produced as the toilet flushed after Gimli had grunted and strained on the device for many minutes, leaving the small room uninhabitable for a time due to the incredible stench, but with a blissful expression of great relief.

Bands of contracting muscles now pulled on the struggling mass that had finally been forced past the point of congestion. They were pinched off from the group in their twos and threes and pushed further along with considerable force through the tight confines of the viscera-filled rib cage, as a parched dwarf might squirt the last dregs from his wineskin after an exhausting day in the mines.

Elrond gasped for breath as the clenching stomach began to relax, rolling the dead body of his former cellmate off of him to plop face down in the pool of chyme. He drew in a lungful of the burning vapor, and coughed. His anus now burned like fire and felt unnaturally distended. Flipping over on his belly, he groped in that place to find a pony vertebrae that was forced into it by the last powerful contraction. Elrond extricated it, and marveled how the dragon's bile had softened the once sharp and hard bone to a gristle-like consistency—the first stage before dissolving completely.

The pure animal instinct to survive was taking over his once brilliant mind. His body craved air, real air, and he clambered up a slight incline towards the sound of the methodically beating heart. He was still sane enough to realize this was the only way out, however unlikely it was, and with false hope borne by desperation, he slipped, slid and floundered up the mucous-slick incline toward the opening to the throat. He finally made progress when he found a pony femur firmly imbedded in a stomach fold above him which served as a handhold. His free hand reached the entrance, but to his dismay it was clenched shut like a gigantic fist, that would not yield to any amount of scratching or pounding. In hopelessness, he was about to give up, and slip from his precarious perch back down into the sludge when the hard flesh he pounded against seemed to soften, and he was actually able to slip his hand in some inches. Hope was renewed, and he strained to push his head through the relaxing sphincter, when in the next instant it seemed as if the floodgates of a great dam had been opened upon him as he was pushed all the way to the opposite end of the muscular sack by an avalanche of tumbling, screaming bodies awash in a wave of mead and saliva.

Chaos erupted as the mass of new occupants were forcefully ejected from the relaxing sphincter, tumbling them pell-mell into the hot sludge. Elrond now found himself now on the bottom of the heap, held down in the seething, stinking muck by the struggling bodies above him. The weight was too great, and he was about to black out, when the digestive organ began another of its repetitive, massive contractions. It had been less than a minute since the last rhythmic compression, despite all that he had endured since the previous one.

The great wave of muscular activity caused those trampling him to shift, and by the time it ceased, everything had changed again, and Elrond was able to squirm and fight his way upwards. He had breached the surface and was now wedged shoulder to shoulder like sardines with the new arrivals in what now seemed like a considerably smaller space. He was literally standing upright now, propped up by all of those that surrounded him in the confining organ. In the total darkness and constantly shifting chamber, it was easy to lose all sense of direction, save for the presence of the now chest-high pool of fluid, and the air pocket above it which discerned top from bottom of the pitch black chamber. Though the stinking, acid laced atmosphere caused the new occupants to choke and gag, it was now literally a breath of fresh air to Elrond, for the process of gulping down the recent arrivals had also brought a modicum of fresher air to the stifling, suffocating chamber, and held it inside as the puckering valve tightly resealed behind the new occupants. As Elrond greedily inhaled, he also took in the rivulets of spittle-laced mead that dripped from his forehead, and for a moment thought he was hallucinating as the sweet fluid entered his mouth. His mind was sound enough to identify that this was the potent version favored by elvish sailors and present on every White Ship that departed the Grey Banks. It was also said that dragons, as a general rule, had a decided taste for the intoxicating beverages of elf, dwarf and man, and chose to imbibe in them whenever the opportunity presented itself. Smaug had obviously purloined a barrel of sailor's mead from the sinking ship, and apparently gulped it down along with his victims, as a person might wash down a tavern meal with a tankard of ale.

His tongue and throat burning from the acidic fog, Elrond gently pushed the closely packed occupants so he could bend low enough to take a big gulp of the sweet mead. He did not dip down far enough though, and for his efforts got only a mouthful of wet pony fur, for indiscernible in the total darkness, this material floated up and formed a thick film on top of the liquid. He spat out what he could of the cloying mass and tried again, but the stomach had clenched too tightly for him to bend down again. It was probably for the best, for the mead was soon unpalatable as it quickly became diluted in the foul cocktail of liquefying bodies, saliva, mucous, stomach acids, and the voided urine and feces of the terrified, and tightly pressed occupants.

He called out over the din of wailing elves, and their own predator's internal noises to those he was closest too, and whom he believed must now be ensconced there as well. Galadriel weakly responded, but nothing was heard from Gandalf. He had the misfortune of ending up head down during the last peristaltic wave, and with the grave injuries inflicted by the vengeful drake and now in the tight confines of the clenching belly, he was too weak to right himself. Perhaps too, he had lost the will to survive, knowing any resistance now was hopeless, and so filled with guilt for bringing the wrath of Smaug upon them all.

Galadriel, though her head was above the stinking mire, had the bad luck of being pressed belly to belly against a mead-intoxicated sailor, who in his addled state attempted to rape her despite their dire circumstances. Tightly packed against other writhing occupant, the brute couldn't quite position himself to perform the foul deed. Elrond could hear her cries of distress but could do nothing to aid her, so pressed he was against others between them. Nor could he move anyway, for one foot was deeply and tightly gripped in one of the stomach's many wrinkly folds. But in less than a minute, the muscular sack that contained them violently lurched again, bowling everyone over and kneading them roughly into hot sludge and softening pony bones. What was once the ceiling of their organic prison, with its life giving bubble of rancid air had shifted, and evoked a mad scramble to the new high ground. With so many now consuming it, the air rapidly became foul again, again, and the weaker began passing out.

Elrond's concern for Galadriel, or anyone else, diminished as the animal instinct to survive overruled his sapient thought. Like the rest still strong enough to do so, each time the dragon's belly contracted with awful regularity, they thrashed and fought madly for the elusive pocket of air that grew smaller and smaller as gastric glands busily secreted the enzymes that would reduce them to the same steaming mire that they futilely squirmed and writhed in.

Smaug could easily prolong their suffering if he wished, and in his long, long life it would not be the first time. It was a simple matter of belching out the bad air, and gulping a fresh supply into his stomach. As the acid secretions intensified in potency, so would his victims' agonies increase tenfold. In fact, he actually gave his prey some respite from the powerful gastric secretions this day by diluting them with the barrel of mead he had so recently quaffed. Despite their transgressions against him, he disdained from further torments, not so much from charity, but more so by his anticipation to absorb the powerful energies and unique knowledge possessed by the more prominent personages he had consumed that day. Gandalf was next to succumb, being unable to struggle for air with the rest, due to his grave injuries. When he passed, Smaug again fell into a temporary state of catatonic bliss, though longer and more pronounced than that which occurred when the previous two sailors perished due to so much knowledge and memories he had to assimilate.

One by one the rest perished for nothing save the great pink stomach worms could long survive that hostile environment. Gandalf may have been the luckiest, never reduced to the scratching, biting and eye gouging that ensued as the little pocket of air the rest fought for like animals grew smaller and smaller. Though they may once have been near-immortals, the flesh and bones of wizards and elves dissolves as surely as that of every other hapless creature or person who entered that terrible place.

Throughout all of this, both hobbits clung to one another, eyes closed in the grip of one of the dragon's clenching wing claws. The confinement was for their own safety it seemed, for as each of his victims expired, Smaug seemed to writhe in pleasure as his mind was deluged with their memories and life force. At times the other wing-paw patted the swollen belly in contented bliss, and might have crushed them, or swept them into the sea to drown had they not been so ensconced. All the while though, they feared dreadfully that the pleasure drunk wyrm might inadvertently crush them in his claws, or thoughtlessly toss them into his capacious gullet - forgetting his promise to spare them while in his apparently disoriented state. At times the beast would begin speaking in the ancient dialect of elves and dragons, apparently to his now deceased victims as they occasionally heard him speak the names of Gandalf, Galadriel, and Elrond. Perhaps he was chortling over their darkest secrets if they had them, for he now knew everything that they once did.


	5. Chapter 4: Almost There, And Back Again

When it was over, the clenching claws moved and released them, and the hobbits found footing on Smaug's taut, scaly belly. Though they rested on the very same spot, to be sure, it now seemed sinisterly different – steeper and more rounded, and the reason sickened them. In his present state, the mighty dragon sometimes referred to as _Smaug the Impenetrable_, seemed a tad less impenetrable now, as soft, grey mottled, pink skin like a baby rat's, could be seen pressing out between the usually tightly aligned belly plates. For the first time they could now see that everyone that had been in the small boat had vanished, and it was now oddly occupied by Shadowfax, setting placidly there on his folded fetlocks. The Mearas stallion was apparently lifted up and placed there by the dragon while they had cowered in his paw. A rope from the boat looped around a wicked talon on one of Smaug's hind feet.

The dragon's head drew close, as he released his small captives, and as if his devouring of their dear friends had never occurred, he simply said, "Well then, I regret that your journey to the Undying Lands must be delayed for the moment, as we have much to do now back in Middle Earth. But I fear you would now find Valinor a lonely and melancholy place seeing that all who have once dwelled there have gone the same way as those that now rend and simmer below your very feet."

Smaug's great tail then began to sweep side to side, propelling them at a decent clip back from whence they had come. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke again. "In light of the fact that you two are accomplished authors, I choose to share with you my vision of the better world that shall rise from the ashes of this one. My good father Ancalagon, despite his great wisdom and intellect, made an error in judgment through his selective breeding of elves and dwarves up from men. It is a harmless enough thing for apelings to breed ferocious wolves into useful hounds, or even annoying lap dogs, but never should this be done with more intelligent and treacherous creatures like men themselves. Middle Earth is now out of balance with the greater world to our East and West. In those lands where immortal elves or greedy dwarves never ventured, mankind is far more primitive, as they ought to be. They live in crude villages, and make their weapons and tools from chipped stones and sharpened bones. With the help of the dragons in those lands whom they rightfully worship, they now understand the domestication of animals and the growing of crops. This is the world as it should be, and I shall set everything in Middle Earth right again to make it one with the rest of the world. The reason why you, Mr. Bilbo Baggins, have escaped your just punishment, and standing _on_ my belly, instead of dissolving _in it _like your fellow conspirators, is because I intend on giving your nephew the honor of assisting me in the great work ahead."

Pausing a moment, the golden orb of an eye shifted to the other hobbit standing there on his belly, and he spoke again. "Frodo Baggins, you are hereby appointed as the Official Ambassador of _Smaug the Magnificent _to the human kingdoms of Middle Earth. You have been bestowed this great honor because you have garnered the trust and friendship of the leaders of both Gondor and Rohan, and they will hopefully listen to you, and comply with my decrees. If they do not however, I will be waiting just outside their gates to destroy them with regrets. Your instructions are simple. Humans who wish to live, must leave the comfort of their cities, for I will raze them to the ground after they are given sufficient time to depart. They will take not a particle of worked metal with them. It is all to be heaped in three great piles as they depart; one of precious metals, one of weapons and armor of war, and one of everything else, cooking pots, candlesticks, and suchlike. I will melt with dragon-fire objects of copper, and they may take the formless gobbets to make tools, for the men of other lands are now just discovering its uses. If I am given the due respect as their one true god I will watch over them, and aid them if they are in danger. They may show their appreciation in the form of offerings, much like my arrangement in Old Dale until they rebelled. No trace of the monuments, history and achievements of the dwarves, elves, or first the reign of men will be left upon the world save for what you have written in the Red Book, and in the passing years that will likely be thought of as little more than a fanciful fairy story."

"Thank you for the honor, and the confidence you have in me, Great Smaug, but I do not wish to be your ambassador or your scribe," Frodo replied with well-justified apprehension.

Smaug retorted with a hint of annoyance that caused Frodo to shudder. "I ask this of you for you may be able to convince the nations of men that the ways of their world must change or they will perish, like the races of Elves and Dwarves. If you choose not to help, countless thousands might die that your counsel could have saved. Your hands then will be bloodier than those of Gandalf and the Elf Lords, no matter that it will be dragon fire, tooth and claw that will do the killing. And besides, if you are determined to be of no use to me, why shouldn't I simply eat you? For over seventy long years since I met you uncle, I had yearned to sample the taste of hobbit and determine if it is more like elf, dwarf or human, and I still have some business to finish with your uncle. But you have time enough to think on it, for we should not make landfall until tomorrow morning, and a small breakfast of a useless and uncooperative hobbit and a stallion too, perhaps, would be a welcome thing after this long and strenuous swim."

Smaug craned his head even closer, so it was clear he was addressing Bilbo alone, and said, "Do not feel snubbed that I offered this grand position to your nephew before you, but I believe we both agree that your advanced age prevents you from too many more adventures as the appointment would entail, eh old Burglar? Besides, there might even be some who would believe you were my accomplice all along, helping me stage my death with talk of a nonexistent weak spot. They would blame you for the dragon at their gates, and would likely hang you on sight. If they had known I really hadn't died, I am sure the survivors of Lake Town would have hung you that very day as well, for all of the death that you caused by stirring me up with your thievery. So all in all, you are unsuitable for the position. But before you are dismissed to a comfortable retirement in Bag End, I believe we have some settling up to do, hmm?"

Poor Bilbo only stuttered in terror and was at a loss for words, so Smaug continued, "Allow me to refresh your memory, old thief. In your own words, as the Red Book now in my care clearly confirms, you have admitted to taking a chest of my treasure. It was your payment, blood money they sometimes call it, for your role in the assassination attempt which so many others have already paid for with their lives. Some indeed, have paid on this very day, for even now you tread above their mortal remains, simmering away in my innards to become just so much more tail and belly fat. Yes, I believe we shall all take a visit to The Shire so I may recover my stolen goods. It seems like such a likable place in your book, full of friendly folk always ready for a celebration – so I think we must l have one in my honor, hmm? I should particularly care to visit the Green Dragon Inn and quaff a keg or two of the famous brown beer they offer there. I suppose we should have the name changedt to the 'Red-Gilt Dragon' to commemorate the patronage of someone so famous as I. You seem to be a reasonably good artist judging from your maps and sketches, so you can make the necessary changes. " Then the great snout pushed closer, almost touching Bilbo's nose, and he hissed threateningly, "Now I do hope for your sake that you still have that chest of treasure, hmm?"

Bilbo stood up unsteadily on the moving belly to address Smaug more respectfully, saying "Indeed, indeed_, Most R-r-easonable of Dragons_, Your Lordship. I still have m-m-most of it anyways. A b-bit might be missing, presents and keepsakes and suchlike, given to friends mostly, for who would not want something that once belong to someone so famous a figure as Smaug the Magnificent, the greatest dragon of the age? Please understand, Most Ingenious of Dragons, that so perfectly executed was your cunning ruse, that I never imagined you would manage to, um, rise from the grave at it were, and ask for it back. But might I just go there all quiet like and bring it out, for I think your coming would cause a bit of a panic?"

The wily wyrm knew that Bilbo was lying, for the Red Book told that the last of the treasure was given to Sam, who confirmed this himself the previous night, when he pressed Sam with the question. But he would not reveal this to poor Bilbo. "Most certainly not", Smaug flatly stated. "It was not only by treasure you stole, but my dignity as well. No, no, no, Old Burglar, we shall march into your hobbit town as plain as day, you will call all of the citizens together. Then you will introduce me as the very dragon you claimed to have outwitted and therefore helped cause my death. You will publicly apologize for making me out as the fool in your book and drinking stories, and then you will request that the treasure box be filled back up with my missing articles you have given away or that the people should find suitable replacements if they wish me to leave the Shire in an amiable manner. When I am satisfied you have replaced my stolen property, you will then host a fine party in my honor, much like your birthday celebration recorded in your book – but with me as the guest of honor to make up for all that you have wronged me. I should think a half score of scalded swine, a brace of roast bullocks and a few kegs of the brown hobbit beer should suffice, and If I am satisfied with the food, drink, entertainment, and restitution, then you will be left to your retirement. But if you shortchange me, I suppose I will have to pillage Hobbiton, and perhaps the rest of The Shire in recompense, for after all, some of them at least are now accessories to your crime by receiving my stolen goods, hmm?"

Then Smaug's vile tongue snaked from his jaws and gave Bilbo's face a long lick that might have toppled him from the dragon's rotund belly and into the sea, had Frodo had not seized and steadied him. "Hmm" Smaug hissed, "Not bad, not bad, nothing approaching the taste of Elf, but definitely more palatable than Dwarf. I'd say a taste is something closer to man-folk though perhaps a bit more gamey. I might very much enjoy a fine feast of hobbits, washed down with the touted brown beer of the Green Dragon Inn, hmm?" And with that he rolled his tongue over the ivory daggers of teeth, and smacked his scaly lips.

Bilbo paled as the dragon voiced his intentions and expectations. If there was anyone in the wide world that might have dissuaded, or even prevented Smaug the Magnificent from visiting (and perhaps devastating), The Shire, they were now dead and gone, stewing away beneath his very feet. He could do little more at this point than give the dragon a courteous bow, and doing his best to mask his dread, he said, "Oh, you would never want to do such a thing to such kindly and hospitable folk as we hobbits, I assure you. I would be delighted to accompany so great a personage, (or should it be _dragonage_?), to our humble Shire, that you may recover all your long lost property, that came into my possession, and humbly apologize for deceit. And a party too, indeed, a grand party we shall hold in your honor, the greatest party ever held there for the greatest being that will ever grace our humble shire, and sure to make up for all that I have wronged you, oh _Most Forgiving and Understanding of Dragons_."

Frodo felt very sorry for his Uncle, and for that matter, everyone else of The Shire, who would likely also experience the wrath of the coming dragon. He knew the treasure was gone, and that even if everyone in Hobbiton gave up every valuable they had, it may not be enough to appease the greedy wyrm. While he didn't want to be Smaug's ambassador, record the monster's memoirs, or have anything else to do with the cruel beast if it were possible, the truth of the matter was that he had little choice, for to refuse would mean the deaths, terrible deaths, of many more people than just himself, not to mention his entire race possibly reduced to nothing more than more fat on an already too fat dragon. He might even be able to save thousands that would otherwise die, the people of Gondor and Rohan where he had many friends, and other lands too, if he could convince them to submit to Smaug's vision of a better world. There was more too. The gluttonous beast he was to serve had quite literally consumed the greater population of the world's oldest and greatest civilization, and had every intention of devouring the rest down to the last elf, and razing everything they had ever created. Their genius, their songs, literature and history, and those of the dwarves as well, would all be lost to the world save for what Smaug had gleaned from their stolen souls. He and he alone, chosen by the monster himself to be his biographer, might be able convince or cajole the old wyrm to let him record for posterity the histories of those doomed races, which now could only be drawn from Smaug's own recollections. That settled it. His decision made, Frodo stood up next to his uncle on the precariously shifting belly, respectfully bowed much as Bilbo had, and testily said, "_Oh Just and Magnanimous Smaug_, richest and wealthiest of dragons, I have considered your offer and wish to negotiate as to what compensation I might receive for my services should I agree to your proposition."

Fortunately for Frodo, and as a general rule, dragons are at their most amiable disposition when encountered on a full belly, and especially so when that belly is filled with their most hated enemies, and mellowed by strong drink. Smaug was no exception, and now delighted in whiling away the long swim back to the mainland in negotiations with the young hobbit. He jovially replied, "Shouldn't being the most important surviving _Apeling_ in all of Middle Earth, and the friend and confidant of_Smaug the Magnificent, Lord and Master of Middle Earth, _be payment enough for you, hmm?"

Shamming great confidence in his words, Frodo continued with a boldness wrought by desperation. "Indeed, indeed so, _Oh Great One_, but many would think the lesser of you to treat the _Bearer of the One Ring, Hero of the War of the Ring and Destroyer of Sauron _so shabbily. And did not the destruction of the One Ring, which I accomplished with great personal hardship and sacrifice best serve your interests as well? How would it look to the kings and princes you would have me negotiate with? Treating this poor hobbit like a mere slave, forcing him to do your bidding through threats of devouring his friends and family? But consider this offer, _Oh Wisest of the Wise_. I will be your faithful and willing assistant in every capacity you may require of me, and for as long as I have the health to do so. In return, I respectfully request your _Dragon's Word of Honor _that when we reach The Shire, you will be content with just a fine celebration and forget about that insignificant bit of silver. It was truly a small box, only something a hobbit could carry alone, and only a trifling amount for the dragon who conquered Erebor a second time when it was filled with twice the treasure as before just as you have said yourself. And then there is all of the treasures of the conquered Valinor to add to your coffers. I would dare say you are now the wealthiest dragon in all the world. Please understand that what was left of Uncle's treasure was given to Sam Gamgee, whom you have already met, as we would have no need of it in the Undying Lands. But true enough it was your treasure, and from it we will pay for your celebration, and Uncle will make his apologies for how he had wrong your, but let Sam's poor widow keep what remains, for he was a true Ringbearer as well, for a time, and assisted me mightily in overcoming our common enemy. Furthermore, you must promise that you will not harm or pillage any hobbits during your visit. And finally, you will swear to leave my poor Uncle in peace, and that the Shire will be exempted from your plan to wipe out all the two-legged folk save the humans. After all, the hobbits are so small in number and simple farming folk besides. We mostly live underground as you will see so nary a grand building worthy of your time to destroy. We don't receive many visitors and we would hardly be noticed at all in your grand scheme of things".

Smaug crooked a wicked thumb claw under his chin, seemingly to ponder the offer for a bit, though all the while his scaly lips were turning up to form what might be discerned as a devious grin of sorts. By the time his sharp ivory teeth began to show, he presented a single, wicked, scythe of a talon to Frodo, saying "Very well, Mister Frodo Baggins Esquire. Let us shake on it then to consummate the agreement and may Heaven help you if a hobbit's word is not as good as mine, for you have yet to see the full wrath of a truly hot-fired and angry dragon against those who break an oath to one".

Frodo hesitated a moment, due to Smaug's ominous words, but then gritted his teeth and tightly gripped the sharp and terrible talon, (though only by the very tip, for his hand was too small to grasp round it in any other place.) An icy chill crept up his back as he wondered how many lives over all the many centuries had been rent to pieces by the very thing he now grasped... and then gave it a strong and steady shake. As Frodo released his grip, Smaug wistfully said, "Well, I am glad we have settled things so amicably, though it would seem that I shall now miss a light hobbit breakfast on the morrow, not that I couldn't stand losing a bit of weight I suppose."

All three remained silent for quite awhile, (four, in fact, as Shadowfax still trailed along, pulled in the small boat). The only sounds were the waves crashing against Smaug's massive back, as he ploughed the ocean main, his mighty tail swishing side to side, propelling them along at a steady clip. For the most part, the dragon's long neck remained in that peculiar hairpin position, so that his head could rest right on his chest, just in front of the two hobbits perched precariously on his ample belly. He hardly needed to watch where he was going, on the wide and empty sea. The ocean breeze might have chilled the two hobbits to the bone if it had not been for the bath of steamy hot breath that assailed them each time Smaug exhaled. But as the temperature cooled with the darkening sky, he unfurled and overlapped wings over his chest and belly, forming a kind of tent with them, shielding both the hobbits and his head from the wind and ocean spray. As the waning Sun shone through the membranes, they cast an eerie red light over the scene. Every now and then the monotony was interrupted as the living ground beneath them would shift, and in the now enclosed space, the sound of gurgling liquid and what might have been the rattling and grating of disintegrating bones erupted from the depths of the dragon's innards. This went on, uninterrupted for what seemed like an hour, when out of the blue, the reptilian head raised up a little, and the dragon spoke. "It has occurred to me that your services will soon be needed to engage in a small, though mightily important quest of sorts, and my _gut instinct _tells me that it is a matter that cannot wait until we reach The Shire. By the feel of things, I suspect the opportunity will present itself _late tomorrow morning most likely, or early afternoon at the latest._ It is something that two famous Ringbearers like yourselves should be well-suited to accomplish, for it involves your… um, _recovery_ of three beautiful Rings of Power that unforeseen circumstances have led to their temporary misplacement in a somewhat inconvenient location."

Now both of the hobbits in the dragon's company were not only former bearers of the infamous _One Ring_, as Smaug had rightly pointed out, but the both of them had amply demonstrated during their previous adventures that they were very adept in the kind of wordplay and riddling talk that most dragons, including this one, took delight in. From the words the wily wyrm had chosen, both realized with increasing dread as to exactly which Rings of Power the crass beast referred to, the approximate, _inconvenient_ location where they were now, and where they were most likely to be by _late__tomorrow morning most likely, or early afternoon at the latest._ The unfortunate hobbits looked at each other in dismay, and since Bilbo, in his old age, had already been through a great deal of stress, Frodo chose to be their mutual spokesman. With some trepidation in his voice, the younger hobbit inquired, "Um, may w-we assume, Magnificent One, that the rings to which you are referring to might be the very three that we all had seen, among other passengers on the White Ship which only this very morning were in the small boat which Shadowfax now occupies?"

Without any sign that might reveal this was naught but a cruel joke, like a jovial glint in the eye, or semblance of a grin forming along the toothy snout, Smaug merely gave a solemn nod in the affirmative, and with as serious a visage as death itself, and added, "Indeed, indeed so, my astute young friend, the very three rings".

Despite this, Frodo was bold enough to ask, (while trying to mask his dread and disgust), "It would seem,_Your Lordship_, that there might have been, um more direct ways for you to have acquired the rings, that would not involve the unenviable task you would have us perform, which I cannot imagine will be a pleasant one. Would I be correct to assume this is some sort of punishment?"

"Not at all, not by any means, my able friend, secretary and ambassador", Smaug replied with an almost apologetic tone. "You see, if I had expressed a desire to possess the rings while they were still worn, their late masters might have spitefully cast them into the deep, deep sea in an instant when my power over them was lessened. Being such small things in a sea so large and deep, they likely may never have been found. And surely you know by your own experience that the Rings of Power seem to have a life of their own, be they _The One_, _The Three_, which we are concerned with now, or even _The Seven _and_The Nine _of Dwarves and Men, I should expect. If I recall the history correctly, Ilsidur met his death when _The One Ring _flew from his very finger on its own accord, and thus betrayed him to the Orcs. And in its desire to return to Sauron, did not _The One Ring _put you in danger as well, or so the Red Book claims? So you see, young hobbit, given the circumstances, the rings are now in the safest possible place", he finished with a toothy smile and a few light pats on his belly.

Frodo knew there would be no hope of talking Smaug out of the dreadful task, but with genuinely tearful eyes he implored, "Forgive me _Most Magnanimous of Dragons_, but you must understand that Uncle and I knew those people on whose hands those rings were last seen, some were our dearest friends, and for us to,... to..., well, it is just too much to ask."

No longer bearing any trace of amusement in his voice or demeanor, Smaug threateningly hissed, "May I remind you Mister Frodo Baggins that only moments ago you made a solemn promise to do my bidding. Now if you prove to be a base liar, and of no use to me in even so mundane a task as this, you just as soon join those _dearest friends _churning away in my bowels beneath you. When I think of all of the adversities you have already been through, indeed, the both of you in fact, this, um, little favor I would ask is but a trifling inconvenience. It is not as if you'd be poring through the recognizable bones of old friends, it will be nothing like that to be sure. For you see we dragons have a very efficient digestion, and you'll scarcely see a trace of bone at all, save for a few lumps of what were once the thickest ones that belonged to the ponies perhaps. You will likely encounter hair and fur, teeth, hooves, finger and toe nails, and hooves, but little else other than the precious things which you are seeking. Gold, mithril and gems will pass through untouched, silver and bronze, fine enough, but tarnished, but iron quite corroded, and of no interest. Besides the rings I would expect you'll find a few other things of worth, elvish brooches and the like. Oh, and its possible I may pass a stomach worm or two. You may find them alarming, as they grow as large as a rat snake, but pay them no mind for they do not bite. Smaug paused a few second, and in a tone of delight added, "Ah, that reminds me that I haven't had a good deworming since the old days when the men of Dale were my thralls, and there were brave young boys to do the job. There is a method by which you will relieve me of these pests that that involves a lantern, bucket and some good strong rope, but we shall talk of that later."

Frodo blanched white at the fire drake's words, and forced himself not think about those unpleasant prospects until he satisfactorily resolved the current unpleasantness. He next tried a different approach saying, "_Oh Wealthiest of Dragons_, you have stated that the rings you wish us to um, recover, have lost their power with the destruction of the One Ring, and this indeed seemed to be the case. So why then would you now subject us all to this rather daunting _procedure_ to get them back?"

Smaug put a great claw to his chin, and pronounced, "Ah, then you didn't hear my last words to the old wizard? You see, the rings still retain magic, though not as obvious as when the _One Ring still_ existed. I have perceived from the souls of the Valar how their full power can be restored, and that they can be forged together with my other Rings of Power taken from the Dwarves and the Wraith into one great ring fit for a dragon, and its properties will be much akin to those of _The One Ring_, which you had some familiarity with. Think of the wonderful mischief that someone the likes of me could indulge in, appearing like magic any place I please, or to become invisible in an instant, just as you and your uncle have done, hmm?"

Frodo grimaced at the thought. If Smaug were not the deadliest, most dangerous being in all the world already, how much more so he would be as a god-like, invisible entity that could rain down fire and brimstone on anyone left who dared to oppose him. The rings then would make him utterly omnipotent, if he were not that already, so it was highly unlikely he would be able to dissuade the beast to leave them in a dung heap. And besides, he chafed; it would not be Smaug mucking about in his foul and copious shite, but two unfortunate hobbits. He still had a genuine concern though, and blurted it out. "But you are so huge, and the rings are so small, _Oh Stupendous One_. If any of those tiny things were to get, um, hung up somewhere inside of you, we would not find them no matter how carefully we searched, and you would punish us unfairly for our fail..."

Smaug interrupted the desperate hobbit mid-sentence, saying, "Nay, nay, you needn't concern yourselves about such matters, I assure you. During my long, long life, I have both inadvertently and deliberately consumed innumerable precious things along with the kings and heroes that bore them. In every instance their jewels and objects of precious metal were safely expelled along with whatever else remained of them which my body didn't utilize. And in this case it will be an even surer thing, for I can sense all objects imbued with magic, so I will surely know when they have left my body thereby assuring us of certain success. And finding them should not be as daunting as you expect, however small that may seem compared to me. In all of those times before, I have called upon nimble- fingered lads to, um, retrieve such items of worth when the opportunity presented itself. And besides, you will have your own merry crew of young hobbits joining us by this time tomorrow, for they should not have gotten far without their ponies I suspect. I believe those three are so devoted to you that they would follow you into the Underworld if you only asked, so helping you retrieve the rings would be but a small thing to them."

For the first time since Smaug emerged from the depths Frodo beamed with delight, and hugged his uncle. "You mean to say that Merry, Pippin and Sam are still alive? Err, they still live, _Most Merciful of Dragons_?"

"Why of course, indeed so; did I not say only some minutes past, that I have yet to eat a hobbit? I never said they were dead, so I should think they are still very much alive – unless they were consumed by trolls, wargs, or wolves and suchlike since I left them safe early this very morning. And that prospect is most unlikely for I took the precaution of marking them with my scent. No predator alive would dare go near them now."

Frodo was curious as to what Smaug meant by his _marking_ them, but he elected not to ask, as he suspected it might be something rather unpleasant, and he already had a great deal of unpleasantness, likely a tremendous steaming pile of unpleasantness he distastefully imagined, to dwell upon for the moment, not to mention the horrifying prospect of deworming the beast with a bucket, rope and lantern. Thinking the wyrm expected a response though, he said, "You seemed to have planned for everything, _Oh Wisest of Dragons_".

"Indeed, indeed, for dragons usually do young hobbit. But I now grow bored with all of this past history, though you would do well to remember all of what I have told you here, and that you record it with unerring accuracy, when you again have access to the Red Book. But I wish to be entertained now, so require you and your uncle to devise a few clever riddles worthy of a dragon's intellect to help while away the hours as I swim us all back to the coast."

Frodo stifled a sigh, and said with a forced enthusiasm, "Yes, _Most Remarkable of Dragons_, but allow us some moments to come up with something worthy enough to challenge you." There was silence for some minutes, and then abruptly the dragon spoke again. "It has just occurred to me that like the elves and dwarves, you hobbits too may have been bred from the natural human stock to accomplish specific tasks for my sire Ancalagon as well. We all can now see that he bred the elves to make precious things, sing him beautiful songs, and always remain attractive things to um, well, eat, of course. And then the dwarves, with their strong, compact bodies ideal for working the mines so that he might enjoy the precious gems and metals they endlessly toil for. Perhaps your race too, young hobbit, was created from common men as well by my esteemed sire to amuse him with your wit and riddles and such, not to mention, that with your tiny, nimble fingers, you are ideally suited to perform um, certain tasks, the likes of which you will accomplish for me on the morrow, hmm?" As if on cue, the bloated dragon's bowels seemed to punctuate the statement with an ominous gurgling noise.

As their eyes went to the sound of the gruesome noises, a grotesque, hand-sized monstrosity, something liked a crab, though uglier and far more menacing, emerged from under one of the gilt-red scales of the dragon's lower thorax, which like the scales of his neck and belly, now revealed taut pink skin beneath, as his intestines swelled with the liquefying remains of his recent victims, like the Autumn sausages made in _The Shire_. The creature skittered a short distance before burrowing again under another scale, higher up, and unaffected by the expanding bowels. All three gazed on the thing, the hobbits with some alarm, as any spider or scorpion of that size would be cause for concern. Smaug casually remarked, "There, a dragon louse. I will be happy to be rid of them all soon enough with four industrious young hobbits probing their little fingers under my every scute and scale, and plucking them all away, eh? Ah, and a good scale waxing and polishing too, would be in order before the fine celebration we shall have in _The Shire_. I have not had one of those in many years and we can have a thorough deworming then as well with four industrious young hobbits on the job. Yes, yes, I can see there will be many reasons why your amusing little race might be allowed to live on after all of the unnatural elves, dwarves, goblins and orcs are gone, gone, gone. "

Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, Smaug's great sweeping tail pushed them steadily eastwards towards the shore of Middle Earth. All the while, Bilbo and Frodo labored to keep the dragon amused with riddles, and when their combined wit began to fail, they resorted to singing some of the better known hobbit drinking songs to keep the monster entertained. They began one that evoked sad memories of Gandalf, for it was a favorite of his, and to their mutual surprise, the great wyrm joined in, word for word, though in an immensely deep baritone unlike anything they had ever heard. So unnerved they became that they had to stop, and only Smaug finished the piece, and did so with the smuggest of grins. Bilbo began to ask how the beast had come to know it, though Frodo gave him a nudge to desist and then he too, realized the awful truth that Frodo already understood - for the dragon had consumed Gandalf's soul as surely as his flesh, and now possessed all of the late Wizard's memories and knowledge.

By the time the Sun began to set in the West, both hobbits were both physically and mentally exhausted, so much so that the dragon commanded, "It is best that you retire for the evening now. I will cover you with my wings so you will keep warm and not fall off into the sea. Sleep well, for I shall expect much from you on the morrow." With that, Smaug pulled his head from the tent-like canopy he had formed with his wings, and let them fall over the hobbits like a heavy quilt. With the stars overhead to guide him, the dragon slightly altered direction, and continued doggedly on though the night. Fortified by the absorbed spiritual energy of the great elves and Wizard he had recently consumed, he would remain untiring for months – a useful benefit in his campaign to pull down and leave no trace of every building and monument in Middle Earth and Valinor - save for his two hidden palaces built beneath mountains.

Under the weighty wings the two exhausted hobbits dwelled on what to them were matters of some importance as they waited for sleep to overtake them. Now the dragon's thumping heart and gruesome digestive noises were louder than ever, amplified under the living blanket of veined wing membrane. In time with the noisy heart, it pulsed against their skin unceasingly, bringing fresh, hot blood on every thrumming beat, keeping them uncomfortably warm, and giving them some idea of what might be experienced if the inscrutable beast would change his mind and gobble them up as a light breakfast on the morn. Given the horrors they experienced that day, and the dire predicament they still faced, the things they thought about might seem relatively trifling. In Bilbo's case, he sought to block out the tremendous guilt he felt. _What if he had just refused Gandalf's and the dwarves' requests to be their burglar so long ago?__Would they have given up their insane plot then and there, and would Smaug still be peacefully sleeping on his gold all of these years, instead of exterminating entire races in the dragon's wrath which he alone had ultimately provoked when he stole the monster's cup? _ For all these years he had borne the guilt for just the hundreds which the enraged beast had killed that in Lake Town that terrible night of smoke and fire, but was able to justify it to himself somewhat because the sacrifice of those people, however tragic, had ultimately rid the world of a menacing dragon. But today he learned that those deaths were only the tip of an iceberg of a far greater, near-incomprehensible tragedy. It was his fault alone, it seemed, that Smaug was able to dupe everyone into believing he had been killed at Lake Town, and then used that advantage to slaughter countless thousands of unsuspecting elves and dwarves while he chortled his fine tale of having outwitted the foolish beast, and caused its destruction, while he sipped tankards of ale gifted to him by his wide eyed listeners.

Despite his acclaim, Bilbo was glad to have left _The Shire_. He could never live down all of the disturbances his previous adventures had brought to the usually peaceful, routine, and mundane world of his race. After eighty-odd years, the hobbit-folk still complained about the dozen uncouth dwarves that had come calling on him. And years later the death's at the hands of the Ringwraiths searching for _The One Ring _which he brought to _The Shire_. And now he was forced back to face his countrymen's scorn once again, and the unruly dwarves, or skulking Ringwraiths were a rather small thing indeed compared to his returning now with an enormous and fearsome dragon that expected to have a great celebration in his honor. And worse still, many of his fellow hobbits never believed he had overcome a great fire-drake in the first place, despite the treasure box and testimony of Gandalf. But with his return, and with the very dragon he boasted about having helped slay, (but who was obviously still very much alive), in tow, everyone in _The Shire _would see that the naysayers had been right along, for Smaug had insisted that he make a public apology to his countrymen's assembled masses upon their arrival. Having lived far beyond his years with the power of the _One Ring, _Bilbo wished death would take him before Smaug publicly humiliated him in front of the entire population of hobbit-folk. And this was the best possible conclusion. It was equally possible the gluttonous wyrm wouldn't leave until he had eaten everyone despite his supposed, _dragon's word of honor_. He contemplated the possibility of silently slipping off into the sea that night, but the dragon's pressing wings held him fast. If Smaug were nothing else, he was a virtuoso in the fine art of cruelty, and knew that bring him back to the Shire to apologize would be the most appropriate fate for the hobbit that made him look so foolish in the Red Book.

As he waited for sleep to take him, Frodo seemed oddly oblivious to what new terrors the dragon's wrath would bring, but instead, merely pondered how he would incorporate the chronicle of Smaug's upcoming campaign to wipe out all vestiges of Middle Earth into the other tales and history that the great red tome already contained. Would a whole new book after _The Return of the King _be in order? Perhaps a final one entitled _The Ascendance of Smaug and the Fall of Middle Earth_ would be appropriate? It would likely please his new dragon master, at any rate. Perhaps the overall title of the four books to his credit would still be _The Lord of the Rings_, only now; the true _Lord_ in question could only be the bloated dragon whose very belly he would soon fall asleep upon. For after all, the vengeful Fire Drake now possessed all of the surviving, or at least known, _Rings of Power _in all the world, (albeit some of them were temporarily inaccessible beneath several feet of scales, fat, and noisily gurgling guts). With both dread and disgust he knew that those rings now somewhere below him were destined to be united with the rest on Smaug's Mithril neck chain – after the extreme unpleasantness their recovery would entail on the morrow. With dread, he wondered, that with the rings united would the dragon who possessed them wield their power to become the virtual God of this world?


	6. Epilogue

It would seem that the vengeful Smaug had indeed succeeded in his great campaign to wipe out all traces of the highly advanced civilization which our Nordic ancestors referred to as _Midgard_, (or translated to _Middle Earth _as J.R.R. Tolkien called this world in his books.) That said, there are still a few enigmatic, far too ancient structures hinting that there was indeed, an advanced, _Lost World _that baffles modern science. Perhaps these are surviving relics of Middle Earth that eluded Smaug's destructive wrath, though most people today are more likely to ascribe such things to ancient aliens, rather than to vanished races of dwarves, elves, and highly advanced humans when the rest of the world was still in the Stone Age. Then there is the legend Atlantis too - an advanced civilization on an island in the Atlantic that was destroyed in antiquity by a tremendous, unknown calamity. Could Atlantis be another name for Valinor, and could the wrath of Smaug be the calamity that caused its disappearance? Few people today regard these ancient legends and beliefs as anything more than the stuff of fairy tales, but if it were all true, did Smaug really become a prominent god of mankind as he promised he would? Archaeology reveals that there certainly were beliefs in dragon gods throughout the world in ancient times though they are largely forgotten today, save for the beneficent dragons of the Orient, and the dragon-like, flying serpent deities of Mesoamerica. But perhaps the great red-gold Fire Drake of Middle Earth kept his promise and had the last laugh after all. For there is a god, certainly the best known today of all the gods of human culture, and one still worshiped by the majority of humans even today by the followers of three great religions. But what most these worshippers do not realize is that their God unerringly fits Smaug's description in all but name, (which is an easy enough thing to change, of course). According to that most sacred and famous of all books, the Holy Bible, this God, like Smaug, spews fire from his mouth and smoke from his nostrils as recorded in both Psalms and II Samuel. They are both described as extremely prideful, and like Smaug, Yahweh he is described in several books of the Bible as a huge creature with enormous wings, and talons like bulls' horns. The ancient Canaanites knew this Yahweh as a great dragon called Yaw, who was a bitter enemy of their own god, and a thousand years later Roman historians stated the God of the Jews was a dragon. Perhaps this is why the temple Menorah, emblem of Israel even today, was decorated with dragons. They both appear to be clearly carnivorous as well, consuming offerings of lamb, cattle, and even human beings. While Smaug received tribute in the form of maidens from Dale, the Biblical dragon god received Midiannite virgins captured in war by his Hebrew worshipers and given over to him, thirty two of them at one sitting, if the Biblical Book of Numbers is to be believed. Both clearly loved to hoard treasure as well, the Yahweh-dragon demanding every particle of jewelry from the tribes conquered by the Hebrews, and perhaps he even slept upon this treasure pile in his portable tabernacle lair, much as Smaug did in Erebor. Not content with that, the Bible states that Yahweh would waive his demand for the first born child of every household under his rule, in exchange for their equivalent value in silver and gold, (according to the Book of Leviticus). Both also seem to take great delight incinerating cities, Smaug with Lake Town and Dale, and Yahweh with Sodom and Gomorrah. Perhaps the only thing that differentiates the two was that we have no evidence that Smaug could make himself invisible. Certainly, the fire breathing, gold-hoarding, huge, winged, livestock and maiden-eating _Yahweh_ had this power, or so the Bible says. So if they are the very same creature as the evidence seems to suggest, Smaug may still be among us even to this very day, using the combined energies of the surviving_Rings of Power _to keep his immense bulk usually hidden from view, (though occasionally mistaken for various lake monsters, sea serpents and even UFO's, flying pterodactyls and thunderbirds, if the thousands of worldwide sightings are to be believed). This might also at least partially explain the disappearances of literally tens of thousands of young women all over the world each year that mysteriously vanish without a trace - never to be seen again. And just as Smaug set Dwarves, Men and Elves to war each other over his dragon treasure, Christians, Jews and Muslims in the 21st century still kill each other in bloody wars because they all believe that only they know the proper way to worship the huge, winged, fire breathing, maiden eating, gold hoarding, Yahweh, Jehovah, God, Allah; or is it …. Smaug?

**Postscript **- if there is enough interest from readers, additional chapters will be added chronicling Smaug the Magnificent's further endeavors to transform the mythic Middle Earth as described by J.R.R. Tolkien, to the Elf, Dwarf and Orc-free ancient world we are familiar with today – a world where, (to hardly anyone's surprise), dragons were worshiped as Gods by many of its ancient civilizations.


End file.
